Have you ever felt the overwhelming rush of joy and exhaustion after bringing a baby home? The world celebrates this moment, but what happens when reality sets in? It’s often made to seem like a short experience: a few days of contractions, a hospital visit, and then you're home with your baby. Sounds pretty simple, right?

But as someone who’s been through this four times, I can tell you — it’s not that simple. What I wish I had known is that the hardest part for me wasn’t the birth itself; it was everything that came after.

For context, I didn't have a C-section, complications, or infections, and I was fortunate to bring home healthy babies. But still, those next few weeks and months were incredibly hard. And no one had prepared me for that.

As a certified pediatric sleep consultant with years of experience working with families, I often get calls from moms who have just given birth, wondering if it’s the right time to hire a sleep consultant. I’ve come to understand that a mother’s well-being is the foundation of her baby’s well-being. My answer is often, not yet. In those early weeks, the most important thing is to focus on your healing and bonding with your baby. In fact, there are times I even find myself gently talking moms out of it during those first three to four months. Let me explain why.

I lost my mom when I was just 12 years old. Even now, just the word ‘Mom’ brings tears to my eyes. Without her presence, I often felt lost during those early days of motherhood, longing for her reassurance and comfort. As a mom of four today, I understand the depth of that loss in ways I couldn’t have grasped as a child. When I became a mother myself, that loss felt even sharper. There was no one to guide me, no one to gently show me how to care for myself while caring for my baby.

All the focus was on the baby, and anything I was struggling with felt like something I simply needed to push through and ignore. The only conversations around me were focused on how quickly I’d lose the pregnancy weight, when I’d get back to the gym, how I should be enjoying my time off work, and of course the famous question: "How is she sleeping"?  As if my healing wasn’t part of the equation and my baby was some statistic. No one asked me how I was feeling.

I thought I was well prepared. My husband and I took three different childbirth preparation classes at one of the best hospitals for women in Chicago. I remember the curiosity, laughter, and excitement that filled those classes, I truly believed we were ready for this new stage of life.

Or so I thought. What awaited me was not the smooth sailing I had imagined but a storm of physical and emotional challenges I wasn't prepared for.

Coming home with our little miracle was a wonderful moment. I felt so blessed each time, walking through the door, having prepared all of the baby’s clothes, washed, folded, and neatly placed in the sweetly decorated nursery. I thought things would be smooth sailing now that we were home and everything was in place, and I knew so much about sleep and babies, so what could go wrong?

But little did I know. The long, complex, and painful healing process was just beginning. Breastfeeding, which I had been told was “natural,” came with endless challenges. And those hormones hit me like a wave, leaving me crying and overwhelmed for months. I didn’t understand what was happening to me.

From the outside, everything looked like it should be perfect. My husband was supportive. I wasn’t rushed back to work. With my first child, I didn’t even have anyone else to care for. So, what was wrong with me? Why was this so hard? Why was I always crying and sad?

Why did it take me over six weeks to stop bleeding? How could sitting on a chair still be painful weeks after birth?

Well, no one prepared me. I guess that’s what my mom would have done, gently reminding me to rest, to heal, to care for myself as much as I cared for my baby.

No one told me to take care of myself — to rest, rest, and rest some more. No one warned me that pushing a heavy vacuum could worsen the bleeding. No one reminded me to slow down, get to know my baby, and let go of the rush to “get things in order.”

No one told me to take my time. To stay curious and get to know my child’s sensitivities, to explore my intuitions and play a bit of trial and error. No one warned me about the excruciating pain of breastfeeding; how something so “natural” could feel anything but.

And yet, while laughter and celebration filled my home, I felt like I was disappearing. Everyone saw a glowing new mom; I experienced someone barely holding it together. My husband’s wonderful family from overseas came to stay with us during this simcha — the Hebrew word for a joyous occasion. They made big celebration dinners every night, and we spent our days exploring Chicago, the fabulous windy city. Why not? they said. You’re doing great! Look at you!

But inside, I wasn’t doing great. While their joy surrounded me, I felt like I was falling apart. I wish I could say I quickly learned how to care for myself. We often say we’re wiser in hindsight, but the truth is, it took me four pregnancies to truly understand how to recover with kindness and compassion. How to truly take care of me.

Even then, I couldn’t shake the guilt. Despite the joy around me, I carried the weight of feeling selfish, like I would be disappointing if I chose not to join them, ruining the celebration. After all, they came in from overseas! But I wasn’t selfish. I was simply a postpartum mom in need of a much slower pace, quiet, rest, healing, and understanding. Someone to say: You come first, and this will take time.

Today, I feel compelled to be that voice for moms who think everything needs to be whipped into shape immediately after childbirth. For those who crave a plan and long for predictability right away. For those who believe they can throw on their Wonder Woman cape and jump back into the swing of things without pausing to ask themselves: How much can I take on today? Does this feel doable for me?

Because I know how it feels to carry the weight of expectations, the belief that I needed to be joyful, glowing, and endlessly patient while struggling inside. And I also know that it doesn't have to be that way.

And to those moms, I want to gently remind you. It’s not only okay but necessary to dare to voice your needs, even when you look fine on the outside. If you’re in the thick of it right now, know you don’t have to navigate this alone. Whether leaning on loved ones, seeking professional support, or simply permitting yourself to rest, your well-being is most important.

Teaching independent sleep requires intention and consistency. It’s about recognizing the value of sleep and maintaining that commitment through both the easier nights and the harder ones. But it’s not something to take on when mom is still in the depths of recovery, both emotionally and physically.

That work can begin when mom is feeling better, stronger, and ready to ease back into the rhythm of life. There’s no single “perfect” time for this, only the ability to recognize when change feels right and when both parents feel ready to tackle that next step together.

Every postpartum journey is unique, filled with its joys and challenges. I’d love to hear from you. What was your experience like after bringing your baby home? Your story may be exactly what another mom needs to hear today.