How to Navigate Postpartum Emotions and Find Calm

Two weeks into being a mom of two, and I can already say this: the transition is breathtakingly beautiful, raw, overwhelming, and humbling all at once.

No one really tells you how heavy your heart will feel in these first days. You’re caught between the joy of welcoming a new life and the ache of realizing how much has changed in such a short span of time.

And if I’m being honest, the hardest parts have left me teary more than once.

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1. Giving Them Both Enough of Me

I want to soak in every newborn stretch, every tiny squeak, every sleepy sigh as my son curls against my chest.
But then I look over at my daughter, my first baby and realize she still needs me just as much.

It feels impossible sometimes: how do I give them both enough of me? How do I reassure my daughter that she hasn’t been replaced, that her mama’s love hasn’t been divided but multiplied?

Some days, I feel guilty for holding the baby too long while she’s waiting to play. Other days, I feel guilty for laughing and reading with her when my newborn is fussing.

This is the tightrope of motherhood no one warns you about: constantly shifting your weight, always feeling a little off-balance, trying to give all of yourself when your energy feels thin.

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2. Comparing & Realizing How Much Has Changed

My baby boy is completely different from his sister: in looks, in the way he cries, even in the way he sleeps. I catch myself comparing him to her, wondering if I’m still doing everything “right” this time.

And then it hits me: she isn’t a baby anymore.

When did her baby cheeks thin out? When did she start climbing into bed by herself? When did she go from needing me every second to proudly announcing, “I can do it, Mama”?

The contrast between the newborn in my arms and the little girl by my side is stark and it breaks me open in the most bittersweet way.

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3. How Did We Get Here So Fast?

We’re a family of four now. Just like that.

It feels surreal, as though I blinked and skipped chapters of our story. One moment, it was just me and my husband dreaming about having kids. Then it was long nights rocking our first baby. And now… two kids. A whole family.

Motherhood has a way of swallowing time whole. Days blur together, weeks fly, and suddenly you’re staring at these little humans thinking: Wasn’t it just yesterday I brought my first baby home?

The years are short. That truth sinks deeper every day.

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4. The Weight of “Lasts”

Maybe this is our last baby. Maybe not. But the thought lingers constantly.

If this is the last… then everything suddenly feels heavier, more sacred.

The last hospital stay. The last time I’ll cradle a tiny newborn in the quiet of 3am. The last first smile. The last first giggle. The last time I’ll pack away newborn onesies.

Each moment is sharper, almost glowing with significance because it could be the last. And that both hurts and heals me in ways I can’t fully put into words.

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Why Slow Living Matters More Than Ever

This mix of emotions could easily spiral into postpartum depression. And truthfully, I’ve felt it knocking at my door. The exhaustion. The tears. The overwhelming “what ifs.”

But what has grounded me is the same thing that guided me through my first season of healing: slow living.

To not rush through the hard moments.
To breathe deeper in the joyful ones.
To stop trying to do it all and instead focus on being here.

Slow living isn’t about a perfectly aesthetic life. It’s about letting the small moments matter. Holding your baby an extra 10 minutes. Watching your daughter twirl in the living room. Choosing presence over perfection.

And in this fragile season of newborn life it’s not just helpful, it’s essential.

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Practical Anchors in This Season

The truth? We don’t all have the same 24 hours in a day.

Moms have hours broken into pieces: nap schedules, snack times, messes to clean, meltdowns to soothe. My hours aren’t whole, but they are holy.

That’s why I created my Romanticizing Motherhood guide. It’s a way to reclaim even a few moments each morning. Not for productivity, but for presence. It helps reset my nervous system, balance my hormones, and start the day feeling like me, not just “mama.”

And when I need more guidance, I lean into my Savoring Simplicity Guide. Inside are practices and rhythms I’ve carried through every stage. From the postpartum fog, to toddler chaos, to finding myself again. These aren’t just “nice ideas.” They’re lifelines that work in the thick of it all.

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The Outlook I’m Choosing

I don’t want to wish away these days, even when they’re exhausting. I want to live them fully.

Because one day, sooner than I’d like, I’ll miss this exact season: the newborn cries, the tiny feet running across the floor, the sticky fingers reaching for me.

So instead of rushing through, I’m choosing to slow down. To savor. To notice.

Motherhood will always be a blend of grief and gratitude. Grieving the fast pace of time, while being grateful for the here and now.

And if I can hold onto anything in this season, let it be this: that I was present.

That I lived it. That I loved it, fully.

Here’s to savoring simplicity, even in the most complex season of all. 🌿

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