Hi, My Name is “Two Months Postpartum“

I’m normally someone who hears the crazy thunder and rain from an impromptu night storm and drifts deeper into sleep. But here I am at 2 am, and my baby’s crying is drowning out the rain. I’m 2 months postpartum which, ipso facto, means I have a 2 month old baby. I feel like that’s how new moms should introduce themselves; “Hi I’m 2 months postpartum” since it explains a lot about our current livelihood. Sets expectations or lack there of, really.

Although my baby is new, I’m not new to being a mom. He’s our third (and last), so my house is in aesthetic chaos right now. Autumn decorations in beautiful oranges and reds and muted tones are splayed across the dining table while a beautifully pre-lit 20ft tree is getting trimmed in the living room. PS- I hate that it’s called “trimming” the tree when you’re putting decorations on it. I’m adding to it, not taking away- that’s not trimming, ladies and gentlemen!

Anyways, I saw a meme that said “Unfortunately for me, my happiness is dependent on my house looking like no one lives in it”. And that spoke to me. On my way downstairs from the baby’s room tonight, I thought about sticking a sign in the living that says EVERYTHING MUST GO and see what happens.

My husband is upstairs fighting for his life trying to feed the baby. Not because our son has superhuman strength, but because my husband’s eyelids do. The man could fall asleep walking and promise you he’s not tired. God bless him, though. He made a deal with me when I was pregnant with our first kid. I said that since I have to carry the baby for 9 months and not sleep well, then he can get up with them in the middle of the night. I know he’s cussing his younger self out right about now.

But we’re grateful for these wild moments, because they somehow pull us all closer together. Well, it’s either that or I’m delusionally happy. Either way, I’ll take it.