All I really want to talk about is how hard it is being a mom. How hard it is to feed your child. How hard it is to feel “normal” when you haven’t had a decent amount of sleep in a month. How hard it is to not scream at your husband when he hasn’t fed the dogs. How hard it is not to cry every morning when you realize your pre-preg jeans still don’t fit. How hard it is to drink enough water! How hard it is to look at the clock and realize you need to pump. Again. How hard it is to “sleep when she sleeps.” How hard it is not to go bat shit when someone tells you to sleep when she sleeps. How hard it is when your kid won’t keep the damn pacifier in her mouth. Just do it! How hard it is to wake up with a crying baby and realize your dog is chewing your Tory Burch flats. Granted that gives me a reason to need new black flats. Now no one can say I’m negative nancy.
Things helping us get by…
Coffee | Grandmas | Baby bath time | Netflix | the Rock N Play | …Coffee
pineapplestyleblog.com 
She is not even a month old….your jeans are NOT going to fit yet. But the rest sounds very familiar. Except I’ve never owned TB flats. Hang in there. It does get easier. Eventually….love you both!
Hang in there Mama, I’m sure you are doing an amazing job and everyone says the first few months are the hardest! But in all seriousness, I’m about to be right there with you so we can text in the middle of the night while we are feeding/pumping and everything in between!
Call me when you want to bitch – we all feel that way, one time or another. The lack of sleep sucks. Give it another few months and she’ll be sleeping through the night (at least til 7 am).
I was convinced everyone was a big fat liar when they told me it would get it easier. There was no light at the end of my tunnel. Sure, there was joy, sporadically, and I certainly wouldn’t have considered myself to have had post partum depression, but I remember thinking that this new miserable life of no sleep and dirty diapers and painful nursing was my new existence and I just needed to accept it. I remember going back to bed one time after a night of cluster feeding and my husband asked me if I was ok. I responded, “No. I’m dying.” And I really thought I was. I thought this was it. This is what it feels like to slowly die a slow, torturous, sleepless, fat death. I can look back now and see how melodramatic I was being. But at the time, all I could see were the minutes ticking oh so slowly by at 2:00 am. 3:30 am, 3:31, 3:32, 3:33, 5 am… But, then one day, it did get better. And I realized not everyone I knew was lying to me. They were right. Of course they were. But what did help me a LOT was the book 12 hours sleep by 12 weeks old. It was a godsend. When Nora was 8-12 weeks old, I devoted those four weeks of my life to getting her to sleep. It was literally all I did for four weeks straight. But, in the end it worked. I got my sleep back. And she is still a great sleeper. And I’m a better mother for it. I also eventually quit breastfeeding but that is another (guilt-ridden and expensive) story for another day.