After my son was born, I experienced this strange type of grief. I felt myself grieving that he was no longer so close to me, that he was now living outside my body. It was a little strange because after nine months I thought I was SO ready to not be pregnant anymore.  That grief slowly left and was replaced

As an expecting first-time mom, I was overwhelmed with the information and advice thrown at me. I wrote things down. I read books. I tried to remember everything because it all sounded so important. Then, my son was born, and I was thrust into this new role everyone had been trying to prepare me for.  After some time in the

The first time I remember hearing the term “4th trimester” was three weeks after giving birth to my son. During a postpartum visit, my doula asked how I was doing. Before words could even form, I started to cry. We sat on my couch, my newborn cradled to my chest, and I wept. She put her arm around me, let

I remember the first time I breastfed in public. My son was just shy of 4 weeks old, and I met a friend for coffee. As we looked for seats, she asked if I wanted to sit in the corner. I knew what she was asking (without actually asking it): do you want some privacy for when you have to