Brutally beautiful.

Seven weeks in, and that’s the best way I can describe having a newborn at home. There’s no softer way to say it without lying.

I understand now why people mostly remember the hard parts, or at least why they talk about them. The sleeplessness, the unpredictability, the way your patience gets tested. The beauty is there. Always. But it’s almost too close, too overwhelming to put into words. The hard parts are easier to explain.

And I catch myself in it. Even me—someone who thinks about these things daily, who tries to be aware—I still fall into that same pattern. I notice the moment where my mind narrows. Where I think… I’ve done everything right. I fed you, changed you, held you, tried to soothe you. Why aren’t you responding the way I expect?