Today is the day K turns one month old.
I won’t say, “Time flies so fast,” but instead, “It feels like it’s already been three months”— and I really mean that, without exaggeration. It’s strange, though, because even with that feeling, 24 hours never seems like enough. It’s feeding time. Then diaper changing. Feeding time again. Diaper changing again. Then it’s suddenly 3 p.m. Then dusk. Bedtime. Midnight. Morning. Bath time. So while the month somehow feels slow, each day seems to pass in a blur.
It’s true that I hardly catch up on anything for myself. A little break to scroll through my phone, a few minutes of Netflix, reading couple pages of a book, sipping coffee, or even just eating and taking a bath feels like a luxury to be savored. But to my own surprise, I don’t mind spending most of my time with him. As an introvert who has always needed space and alone time, I was worried I’d lose that once I had a child who always clung to me. But it turns out he enjoys being in my arms just as much as I enjoy holding him there — even if it means sore arms, even if it means waiting a little longer to do other things for myself.
Today also marks one month since I officially became a mother.
I’m grateful to become a mother in an era when people are kinder to moms, more open about their experiences, and where any kind of service is offered and accessible. It is all like helpful hands reaching out to new mothers like me. But at the same time, all the mixed emotions—ones I guess every mother has felt — are still there, lingering deep in my mind, heart, and body.
It’s been a while since I felt so vulnerable. It reminds me of that same feeling I had when I started at a new school or moved somewhere unfamiliar by myself. That anxiety of facing the unknown. Even with a support system, there are things no one else can shoulder for me. The soreness, the aches, the stiffness, and the pain in my body make me feel weak and more dependent than ever before. I’ve never felt so reliant on other people, whether it’s my husband, my family or even people I just met.
It’s been a month since I entered this new phase of life, and I finally understand why people say it’s brutal and beautiful at the same time.
As the days and weeks go by, I’m gradually adapting to this new routine. The lack of sleep, the physical exhaustion, the anxiety, and the whirlwind of emotions are all beginning to feel more manageable.
It’s his very presence that makes me laugh and fills me with joy. His little, wide eyes staring at me—soft and pure. His tiny fingers wrapped tightly around mine. His spoiled, husky cry every time he wakes or wants to feed. His small body resting on top of mine. His eager face when feeding—sometimes accompanied by a cute, dinosaur-like sound. His red face turning purplish when he cries out loud, often with a distinct vibrating tone. His relaxed expression during his favorite routine—those long stretches that always look like an adult stretching. His sour face when taking vitamins. The small chuckles in his sleep. His curious eyes observing the world around him—still limited to what we have in our house, but already enough to amaze him. The sobs that end with soft coos. The way he shrugs me off when he’s deeply focused on feeding.
So many tiny moments—small acts I never imagined could bring me such happiness—now light up my days. I can’t help but wonder what kind of surprises he’ll bring us and how he’ll fill our days in the month to come.
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