Crying (Mostly Me): Our Newborn Days

The newborn phase is HARD. I won’t sugarcoat it. Forget routine. Forget sleep. Forget knowing what the hell you’re doing. It’s a haze of long nights, short days, and being completely and utterly winging it — but also, weirdly, kind of wonderful.

Let’s start with the worst bit. The bit I stressed about most before Jude arrived: the nights.

Nighttime felt like stepping into a void. Every evening, I had no idea what was going to unfold — would he sleep? Would he scream? Would I cry? Would I fall asleep standing up with a muslin on my shoulder and one sock on? The first two weeks were especially brutal. Dan and I did four-hour shifts, tag-teaming through the night. One of us would be up holding Jude, feeding, changing, trying to soothe him — while the other tried to rest. Sort of. It was hell. There were definitely times we were both counting down the last 45 minutes and praying the other would take pity and get up early. Spoiler: we didn’t.

Eventually, we cracked. Neither of us could sleep properly in the day — too wired, too noisy, too bright. After two weeks, we were zombies. So, off we went on a desperate mission to buy a baby sleeping bag. We came home with the only one we could find — a bright pink ballerina-style number that was definitely not marketed for baby boys, but Jude wore it anyway. That night, for the first time, we put him in his crib and let him sleep.

(And I’ll say this — we were lucky. He didn’t mind the crib. He just slept.)

Sort of. He still woke every two hours screaming for a feed, but at least we weren't holding him in shifts all night. We settled into a new rhythm: Dan, who was back at work, would take everything until midnight, and I’d do the 12–5 a.m. stretch. In an ideal world, it would’ve always worked like that. But of course, Jude had other plans. There were nights where he’d scream for two hours straight, despite all our best efforts. Which meant both of us up, pacing the house, taking turns trying to calm him down.

That’s what made the nights so hard — the not knowing. You never knew how long you'd be up for. You could do everything “right,” and it still wouldn’t work. Looking back now, it makes sense — Jude didn’t know what a day was, or a night, or a routine. He was just alive. But at the time, when your body is crying out for sleep, and your brain feels like porridge, it felt like torture.

Some nights were dreamy. He’d fall asleep in my arms, I’d gently rock him and lower him into the crib like a bomb disposal expert, and he’d actually stay asleep. Other nights, he’d scream the house down until we caved and drove him around the block just to reset him. It was always a 50/50.

But the days... oh, the days made it worth it. Endless sofa cuddles. Skin-to-skin. That soft baby warmth curled against my chest. I took the “sleep when baby sleeps” advice seriously in those early weeks — it saved me. The house was a mess, but I napped like a pro. Dan would take Jude for a few hours while I slept, and I’d do the same for him. Those naps were gold.

Bonding with Jude during the day was magic. Helping him with tummy time (which he hated), feeding him, watching him drift off — I felt like his whole world. I’d look down at him while he fed, those big eyes staring up at me like I was the only thing that existed. And I was. It was beautiful.

Now, let’s talk about Mum — because oh boy, your body is in ruins. Whether you’ve had a C-section or a vaginal birth, it’s all trauma. You’re healing while also becoming a parent. It’s brutal. I was sore for weeks. Getting up from the sofa felt like mountain climbing. Going for a wee was an ordeal. The bleeding? Nonstop. I lived in maternity pads the size of surfboards. But you’re forced to slow down, and honestly? That’s what your body and mind need. Slow days, baby cuddles, and gallons of water.

Jude had a few issues, too. He was colicky and struggled with pooing. It was awful to watch. We gave him Infacol before feeds and did all the tricks — bicycle legs, tummy massages with olive oil — but he’d still go days without going, crying in discomfort. His belly would be tight, his face red, and there was nothing we could do but wait. It broke my heart. They told us it was normal — his digestive system was still figuring itself out — and that it would pass around 12 weeks. That felt like a lifetime away. And there’s nothing quite like being told to “wait it out” when your baby is in pain.

Appointments kept us busy — vaccinations, hearing tests, weigh-ins. The vaccinations went fine. We gave him Calpol as instructed, and although he was clingy and fussy for a day, there were no other issues. The hearing test, though? That gave me a proper scare. The first test in the hospital didn’t register in either ear. The midwife reassured us — “It’s normal, just fluid!” — but still, the worry set in. At the five-day appointment, his right ear passed but the left didn’t. Cue more panic. Eventually, we had to take him for an in-depth hearing test. That morning I was sweating with anxiety — but he passed. Full hearing. I cried from sheer relief.

And then there was registering Jude. A surreal milestone. We went to the office, took the lift — which briefly lost power (Dan hadn’t pressed the button, thought it was hilarious, I nearly cried) — and officially named our boy. Jude Oliver Edward. He slept through the whole thing. Afterwards, we went to a food market and had our first alcoholic drink as new parents. We sipped it slowly, looked at each other, and then went straight home. The magic of a pub drink? Lost when you’re half-asleep and still hearing phantom baby cries.

Appointments kept us busy — vaccinations, hearing tests, weigh-ins. The vaccinations went fine. We gave him Calpol as instructed, and although he was clingy and fussy for a day, there were no other issues. The hearing test, though? That gave me a proper scare. The first test in the hospital didn’t register in either ear. The midwife reassured us — “It’s normal, just fluid!” — but still, the worry set in. At the five-day appointment, his right ear passed but the left didn’t. Cue more panic. Eventually, we had to take him for an in-depth hearing test. That morning I was sweating with anxiety — but he passed. Full hearing. I cried from sheer relief.

And then there was registering Jude. A surreal milestone. We went to the office, took the lift — which briefly lost power (Dan hadn’t pressed the button, thought it was hilarious, I nearly cried) — and officially named our boy. Jude. He slept through the whole thing. Afterwards, we went to a food market and had our first alcoholic drink as new parents. We sipped it slowly, looked at each other, and then went straight home. The magic of a pub drink? Lost when you’re half-asleep and still hearing phantom baby cries.