The funny thing about motherhood is that you don’t realize how many different worlds you are holding together until one crack forms… and somehow you are still the only one not falling apart. Right now, my husband is sick as a dog. Truly, aggressively sick. And because of the nature of his job, he still has to drag himself into work. There is no calling off, no disappearing under a blanket until it passes. Watching him push through like that comes with its own weight. I cannot take the shifts for him, and I cannot fix the way his work demands everything even when he has nothing left in the tank.
And then there is our daughter.
My sweet little girl who has spent the last few days coughing and sneezing directly into my face, my shirt, my hair. This morning she coughed so hard she threw up almost her entire bottle, and that visual does something to you. Seeing her tiny body work so hard just to breathe. Watching her little hands reach for me because she does not understand what her body is doing.
But slowly, thankfully, she is getting better. Her energy is coming back in little waves. Her smile returns for just a second longer than the day before. Her curiosity peeks through the exhaustion.
Naps, though, have turned into a battlefield. The second she starts drifting off, a cough hits and pulls her right back into discomfort. It breaks my heart because she cannot understand why rest keeps slipping away from her. All I can do is hold her and try again.
So at night, when she finally goes down, I feel gratitude in my bones. I do not care that she wakes once or twice. She settles quickly, and in this season, settling quickly feels like a small miracle.
She is still sleeping in our room.
People have so many opinions about this.
“You need to move her.”
“She will sleep better in her own space.”
“You do not want to create bad habits.”
But every time I look over at her sleeping next to me, I feel a peace I cannot explain. It feels right. I know plenty of people say room sharing is good up to a year for regulation and comfort. But beyond the guidelines, I am just not ready to move her. I am trying to trust that this does not make me weak or overly attached or selfish. It makes me her mom.
And when my husband works overnight, our bedroom turns into a full slumber party. My daughter sleeping quietly in her bassinet. Our two dogs walking in and curling up near us like they instinctively know that on the nights he is gone, we stay close. It is our unspoken rhythm. Our little pack.
Even in the chaos, I have found small pockets of balance. I work at night now, once she is asleep, so my days can belong to her. I want to be present. I want her to have my softness, not the rushed version of me that is juggling deadlines. I do not want her early memories to be of a mom who is stretched too thin. So I am figuring it out day by day.
What I still struggle with is the fear around her vaccines. She has been recovering from the flu, and the thought of taking her in for her flu and COVID shots scares me. But the alternative scares me more. So I will be calling her doctor this week. Fear does not remove responsibility.
And then there are the dogs.
My first babies.
They have not had a real walk in about two weeks and it drives me crazy because they deserve better. But somehow they have been absolute angels. They have adjusted, they have been patient, and they ask for more affection which I happily give. I keep promising them that once she is fully herself again, I will get all of us back outside. They deserve sunshine and long walks and a version of me who is not constantly in crisis management mode.
This season of life is messy.
It is exhausting.
It is emotional in ways I did not expect.
But it is also overflowing with love. The kind of love that changes you. The kind of love that anchors you even when everything feels unsteady.
I do not know how I am not sick yet. With my husband coughing on one side and my daughter coughing on the other, I should have gone down days ago. But motherhood has this strange immunity. The kind that whispers, “Not today. They need you.”
So I am still standing. Barely, but still upright.
And somehow, the love in this house, the dogs, the baby, my husband pushing through his shifts, all of it is standing too.
And for right now, that is more than enough.
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UPDATED BIO:
Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.
In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.
Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.
If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.
🍼 Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.
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Read also: Two Days After Bringing Our Baby Home, I Asked for a Divorce
Read also: Our Marriage Ended Before It Began: The Pregnancy That Shattered Everything
Read also: I’m Pregnant And Broke — My Cry For Help
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Annie Spratt on Unsplash
