Savoring Her by Letting Go (a little)

I didn’t miss her.

On her first day of daycare, I felt relief—real, full-bodied, guilty relief. I moved through my day without being pulled on. I had thoughts I finished. Emails I replied to without a toddler rage fit launching off my lap. For the first time in a long time, I breathed deeply without needing to count how long it would last.

And even as I felt that, I also felt the familiar chorus echoing in my head—“Enjoy it. Don’t blink. It goes by so fast.”

It does. It has. I feel like I was pregnant, took a long nap where I didn’t sleep, and woke up with a toddler.

But here's the thing: having space actually helps me savor her more. That space lets me miss her a little. To look forward to seeing her face at the end of the day, not just because I have to, but because I get to. Parenting, like everything else real and worthwhile, is a constant “both/and.” I’m grateful and I'm tired. I miss her and I needed the break.

My daughter is—how should I say this—very attached. My wife has had to gently, lovingly carve out space for herself in what a friend once called our “divine collaboration.” And that collaboration? It’s only ever been on Frankie’s terms. If you’re in her bubble without consent, you might get smacked. (And honestly, same.)

This stage feels like one long release of default expectations. I thought I’d feel one way, and I feel another. I thought missing her would feel heavier. I thought relief would feel wrong. Instead, I just feel real.

This is the kind of conversation we have in our Brave Birth childbirth education classes—the kind that doesn’t make it into a hospital pamphlet. The kind that says “Hey, you might not cry when daycare starts, and that doesn’t mean you love your baby less.” We talk about parenting as a layered, human experience. We prepare for birth and everything after. We make space for first-time parents and growing families to practice this dance of both/and.

✨ Our next class is coming up—small group, big support. Just 6 couples max.
✨ You’ll leave feeling prepared, not panicked. Grounded, not Googling.
✨ And yes, our workbook is packed with the stuff you actually need.

Come join us. Your parenting journey deserves honesty, community, and tools that help you thrive.

📚 Class details & signup here: www.bravebirth.com/childbirth-class
📷 Follow along for more stories & tips: @bravebirthdoula

Cracked Open: On Letting Go, Coming Home, and What Our Baby Already Knew

Cracked Open: On Letting Go, Coming Home, and What Our Baby Already Knew

Our baby didn’t cry when I dropped her off at daycare for the first time.

She walked in like she’d been there for months. Like the room had already whispered “welcome” to her in her dreams. I stood in the doorway, watching her move toward the toys and tiny chairs without even glancing back, and I felt it—not sadness, but certainty.

She was ready.

And so was I.

No tears. No gut-pull to turn the car around. No need to text my wife for reassurance. Because I already had it—her knowing, her calm, her steady belief in our child and in me. She saw this moment coming before I did. She held the possibility with tenderness until I could hold it, too.

We didn’t rush this transition. We honored it.

We gave our daughter time to root before asking her to expand. We moved slowly. Gently. We watched for readiness—not just hers, but ours. And when all of our nervous systems gave the green light, we let her go.

That choice came with a cost.
Not in money, though that’s real. But in time. Energy. The rearranging of identity.

I stayed home while my wife returned to a demanding, high-impact job. Not because I didn’t want to work. But because in the early days, our daughter needed the grounded presence of a body that had carried her. And I needed time to understand who I was becoming.

The Working Partner’s Ceremony

What my wife did every day was its own kind of ceremony.

Waking up with less of us.
Getting dressed while we were still cocooned in sleep.
Walking into a world that doesn’t always recognize the weight of the invisible labor she carried.
Performing, contributing, showing up, and then coming home—to a baby who was always changing, and a partner who was often too depleted to explain how.

She made it look easy, but I know it wasn’t.
She missed firsts. She missed ordinary days.
She was called in only to be called the “other mother.”
And still—she showed up with love.

That’s the kind of quiet grief we don’t make space for.
And the kind of love that goes unnamed in birth books.

What I Teach in My Childbirth Classes (and Why It’s Different)

In my childbirth class, I give everyone a circle.

I ask them to write down everything that makes them who they are. From brushing teeth to managing their team’s workflow. From meditating to packing daycare lunches. From scheduling their next pelvic steam to checking off Jira tickets.

Then I ask their partner to do the same.

And then I give them a third circle—smaller, tighter.
The overlap.

The space they’ll actually share once the baby arrives.

And I ask:

• What stays?

• What shifts?

• What gets rewilded, reclaimed, or repurposed?

• What do you release to others—with love and trust—so you can keep what matters most between you?

Because you can have a beautiful, intuitive birth and still feel completely disoriented by the postpartum reshuffling of your life. Birth is only the first portal. What comes after is the real integration.

The Return Is Its Own Rite of Passage

This daycare drop-off? It wasn’t a fracture.
It was a weaving back.

Back to my wife. Back to my self.
Back to a rhythm where mornings are not just survival and evenings hold softness again.

We didn’t rush this because we trusted the unfolding.
And we trusted each other.
And—most sacred of all—we trusted our child.

If You’re Planning for a Conscious Birth and a Return to Work

You’re not the only one asking:

• How do I protect what I’m building?

• How do we hold our bond when we’re being pulled in different directions?

• How do I stay soft and functional?

• How do we transition with more grace and less rupture?

My childbirth education class was built for that.

Small. Intimate. Real.

It’s the kind of class where we talk about the nervous system, relational shifts, and identity work right alongside labor physiology and birth planning. It’s not about perfection—it’s about preparing to stay connected when things get hard.

🌿 The next class is open now:
Learn more and save your spot

And if you’re looking for something you can do at your own pace, I have a birth + postpartum workbook coming soon. Sign up to get first access.

Cracked Open: On Daycare Drop-Off, Partnering Through Postpartum, and the Quiet Confidence That Comes from Knowing Your Baby

Cracked Open: On Daycare Drop-Off, Partnering Through Postpartum, and the Quiet Confidence That Comes from Knowing Your Baby

My baby didn’t cry when I dropped her off at daycare for the first time.

She didn’t even look back.

No hesitation. No dramatic pause at the door. She just walked—confident and certain—toward the tiny chairs and bins of toys like she’d always belonged there.

And me? I didn’t cry either.

I didn’t sit in the car for 15 minutes trying to catch my breath. I didn’t feel gutted or unsure. I felt clear.

We waited until we were all ready.
And we knew she was.

That wasn’t luck. That was intention—the kind that only comes when both parents are watching, listening, and building a relationship with their baby, even if it looks radically different for each of them.

My wife was the one who saw it first. That our daughter was ready. That I was. She held that mirror up gently and clearly, the way she always does. And I trusted her knowing. I’ve watched her do that at work—read a room, a meeting, a situation—and lead with clarity. But doing it at home? With our child? That was a whole new kind of intimacy.

The Working Parent’s Grief (That Doesn’t Always Get Named)

I know the story people expect: the stay-at-home mom who has a hard time letting go, and the working partner who eases back into normal life with a few photos at lunch.

But that’s not our story.

My wife didn’t get to spend every day memorizing our daughter’s routines. She didn’t get the slow mornings or the long contact naps. Instead, she got up every day and worked in a high-pressure, high-stakes job—showing up, performing, solving, delivering.

All while being called the “other mother.”

All while missing the micro-moments that I got to live inside of.

And it wasn’t easy for her. It wasn’t a relief. It was a sacrifice.

Every time she walked out the door, she gave up another day of knowing our daughter in that full-body, minute-to-minute way. And she did it anyway—for us. For our stability. For our future. For me to have the time to fully heal and learn our baby’s language before anyone else did.

So when I say that we waited until our daughter was ready for daycare, I mean we waited. And it cost us something to do that.

The Emotional Load of Preparation

In my childbirth education class, I give each person a blank circle. I ask them to write down everything they do in a day—emails, breakfast, teeth brushing, managing tension, organizing childcare, keeping track of everyone’s social calendar. Then I give their partner the same circle and the same task.

And then I give them a third circle—a shared one, with just a sliver of overlap.
I say: This is what early parenthood looks like.

This is the space you now have to do all the things you used to do separately. So:

• What gets dropped?

• What gets outsourced?

• What do you stop doing altogether?

• What do you trust someone else to hold?

For us, that sliver looked like me staying home, and her working. And even though that arrangement worked on paper, emotionally it pulled on both of us in places we didn’t expect.

She was giving her all to us—me and our daughter—with very little coming back. And I was giving my all to the baby, with very little left to offer her. We were in a long-distance relationship, separated by walls, bottles, and deadlines.

But still—we did it.

And now, I get to return home to her.
Not just physically.
But emotionally. Softly. Slowly.
We get to reclaim mornings and laughter and touch.

Our daughter goes to daycare with the full weight of that love behind her. And she didn’t look back—because she didn’t need to. She knew we’d built her a safe launchpad.

If You’re Preparing to Go Back to Work at 12 Weeks

You’re likely already thinking about logistics: pumping, commuting, bottle prep, the return to meetings, expectations.

But don’t forget to think about your partner.

Whether you’re the one staying home or the one heading into high-pressure work: this transition is happening to both of you. And it will change everything.

If you want to prepare in a way that honors both of your experiences, this is what my childbirth class is built around.

Not just birth plans and breathing techniques (though yes, we cover that too), but:

• How to protect your relationship in the squeeze

• How to prep for returning to work and being home full-time

• How to communicate when you're exhausted

• How to trust each other’s knowing

This class is for real life. Not just for labor.

My next session is coming up soon, and it's intentionally small—just 6 couples. Because preparation deserves intimacy. Honesty. Space.

🌀 Click here to learn more and save your spot

And if you can't make the class, my workbook is coming soon—so you can do this kind of prep on your own time, together.

Cracked Open: On Daycare Drop-Off, Soft Returns, and the Space Between Us

Cracked Open: On Daycare Drop-Off, Soft Returns, and the Space Between Us

My baby didn’t care when I dropped her off at daycare for the first time.

Not even a little.

No tears, no hesitation, just a confident toddle toward the toys like she’d always belonged there. I stood there, stuck in the doorway like my presence might somehow anchor her to me. But the truth was: she was ready. And I was too.

The Privilege of Readiness

It feels like a privileged thing to say—that we waited until everyone was ready. But it’s the truth. We worked hard and sacrificed to buy that time.

My wife was ready first. She missed me. She needed me. We had been living in parallel, our love stretched thin by time and nausea and exhaustion. This wasn’t long-distance in the traditional sense. It was nine long months of morning sickness that lasted all day and all night, right up until I was on the operating table having my baby pulled out of me.

Then came the real distance: colic, silent reflux, sleep deprivation, long days at home. I stayed with our daughter. I learned her. I memorized her cries and calmed her storms. And my wife went to work. She gave all of herself—every single day—to a job that demanded her best, while getting so little of us in return. She sacrificed being there for the little things so I could be there for all of them.

That is a love that rarely gets named. But it was the base we built everything on.

Moving Home Again

When I say I was ready to drop our baby off in the care of someone else, I didn’t know how big of a deal that was. I’m not talking about just letting go—I’m talking about coming home.

Coming home to my wife. To slow mornings. To soft cuddles. To pillow talk instead of whispered updates during the night shift. I’m coming home to myself, too—to a version of me that isn’t just surviving.

I’m deeply, eternally grateful that we sacrificed to make space for me to be the primary caretaker. And I’m more in love with my wife now than I’ve ever been. Not in a heady, newlywed kind of way—but in a rooted, hard-won kind of way. A love that holds when the world is shaking. A love that became the calm we built our daughter’s first year on.

What I Teach in My Childbirth Class

This is why I teach childbirth education the way I do.

In class, I give each person a blank circle and ask them to write everything they do in a day. Brushing teeth. Making breakfast. Returning texts. Taking out the recycling. Feeding the dog. Holding a boundary. Remembering to breathe.

Then I have their partner do the same. And then I hand them one shared circle. A tiny Venn diagram.

And I ask:

If this sliver of overlap is all the time and energy you’ll have in those first postpartum months, what stays? What gets farmed out? What do you need help with? Who can you call in—paid or otherwise—to hold what you no longer can?

Because this isn’t about being efficient. It’s about being real. Being resourced. Being honest about what it means to survive something that’s supposed to be “the happiest time of your lives” and often… just isn’t.

It’s vulnerable. It’s raw. And it changes everything.

Pregnancy and Birth Crack You Open

People talk about “bouncing back,” but that’s not what happens. Giving birth—whether vaginally or by cesarean—cracks you open. Then the work becomes not stitching yourself back together, but remaking yourself into something even more whole.

We don't go back. We grow forward. And that kind of transformation? It deserves more than hospital bag checklists and what-to-expect guides. It deserves the space to ask deeper questions and make honest, sticky plans.

That’s why my class is intentionally small—capped at six couples. It's why my upcoming childbirth workbook doesn’t just include logistics, but invitations. Reflections. Tools that hold, even when things fall apart.

Because this isn’t just about getting ready for a baby.
It’s about getting ready for the version of you that comes next.

Ready to Prepare Differently?

If you’re expecting and want to build something solid beneath the chaos—my childbirth education class might be the right fit.

• Small group setting (6 couples max)

• Expert guidance grounded in warmth and clinical knowledge

• Real talk about the postpartum shift

• Exercises to prepare your relationship, not just your registry

The next class meets July 13th.
👉 Learn more and save your spot

And if the timing doesn’t work? My childbirth and postpartum workbook is coming soon—sign up for updates and get the tools to prepare for birth and beyond, in a way that actually sticks.

Weaning Without Regret (Even When It Hurt Like Hell)

Weaning: What Worked, What Hurt, and What Helped Me Hold the Line

I didn’t stop nursing because I was totally ready. I stopped because I needed to—for my body, for my mind, and for our family rhythm to shift into something more sustainable. I was depleted in ways I couldn’t name. I was beginning to feel touched out, like I couldn’t access my own needs underneath the constant call of hers. Still, I knew that weaning would break both our hearts a little—and it did.

I first made the very conscious decision that once I chose to stop, I wouldn’t give in. That was the harder part—not the boundary itself, but staying inside it. I knew I’d have to hold a line I didn’t want to hold, one I could be easily swayed to bend. But I had to be the adult, the parent—her parent. And I knew the older she got, the harder it would be to stick to it, because I just want to give her everything that makes her happy. I hate seeing her upset.

What Worked

Covering my nipples with pasties or bandaids that she couldn’t get off. This was paramount. In her eyes, the nipples didn’t exist anymore. The skin—the chest, the soft place to land—was still there. She cried on me, touched me, sought comfort in that space. But nursing was no longer an option.

I gave her space to be upset when they didn’t “work” anymore. I didn’t distract her immediately. I let her have her feelings. And then, after a few minutes, I’d gently redirect her.

I offered other options—often. Not just in the heat of the meltdown, but all throughout the day. Babies don’t just need comfort when they’re upset—they need it baked into their routine. They’re like tiny habit machines with zero impulse control and no chill.

So I built new habits:

• Popsicles, pouches, cups with straws that required some effort

• Freeze-dried fruit, melties, and whatever else lit her up

• A steady rotation of soothing go-tos before things got emotional

This wasn’t distraction—it was a swap. And for it to work, I had to be consistent. She wasn’t going to forget the comfort of nursing unless I gave her a dozen other things to reach for instead.

I resourced myself during the times I knew would be harder—especially after she woke up. I did deep breathing. Power poses. I stared at myself in the mirror and imagined my heart being strong for both of us. It sounds a little cheesy now, but it anchored me in those early mornings when she cried and reached and I had to stay firm.

I asked for support, over and over. I had my wife tell me often that I was doing the right thing. That she supported me. That I could do it. I didn’t believe it at first. But hearing it from people I trusted, on repeat, helped me hold the line. Eventually, I started to believe it myself. And then I started to see it work.

What Was Harder Than I Expected

I expected to miss the closeness. I didn’t expect the ache to feel so physical. My arms would tingle. My chest hurt. I held her, and still missed her. I missed the rhythm. The way we both softened into the act. The way it shut the world out and brought us together.

I didn’t expect to second-guess myself every single time she cried.

I didn’t expect to feel like I was betraying her. Or like I was rushing something sacred.

Weaning wasn’t just a transition for her—it was grief for me. A slow untangling. But the closeness didn’t vanish. It changed. She started wrapping her arms tighter around my neck. Laying her head on my chest. Her love didn’t disappear—it just found new ways to live.

If You’re In It Right Now (and Everything Feels Like It Sucks

If you’re in the thick of it—your kid’s crying, your brain’s fried, and you’re second-guessing every choice you make—this part’s for you.

You’re not doing it wrong. You’re doing something hard.

So what now?

• Lock eyes with yourself in the mirror and say, “You’ve got this.” Out loud. Say it until you believe it.

• Blast music while you make snacks or walk laps around your kitchen. Create movement. Rhythm. Power.

• Keep snacks and tools stocked like a survival kit. Your kid’s new habits need fuel—and so do yours.

• Repeat the truth: this is love in action. Even when it feels like a total mess.

You are not alone. You are not broken. And you’re not ruining your baby. You’re just moving forward—together, one tiny messy moment at a time.

Share Your Weaning Story

Every baby is different. Every parent has a version of this tender, impossible moment. If you’ve weaned—or you’re in it right now—I’d love to hear your story. What helped you hold the line? What broke you open?

Drop your thoughts in the comments or message me privately. Let’s stop pretending this part isn’t brutal and brave.

About the Author

Nicolette Ferrell, I’m a full-time parent, childbirth educator, and writer who believes in telling the truth about the messy middle of motherhood. I live in Oregon with my wife and our daughter, who keeps teaching me that every ending makes room for something new.

What books should I read during pregnancy?

WE’RE SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE!

This reading list is meant to facilitate your experience as a new parent. You might be solo, partnered, a surrogate or a unicorn and because of that, we know that each book on the reading list won’t fit your exact needs. So we suggest taking everything you read with a grain of salt! 

If there truly was one parenting or birth method that was perfected, then there wouldn’t be a million more out there also claiming the same thing. Soak up the info and treat it like the spaghetti you throw at the wall. Some it will stick… and A LOT of it won’t. That’s okay. Find the combination of tools that works best for YOU.

We aim to help you find resources that match your values, lifestyle, budget and insurance options. 

We don’t believe there’s “one way” to have or parent a baby. 

We want to help you find “your way”. This could be helping you discovering a like-minded community-- or combining five methods to fit your individualized needs.

These books cover the most common variations of the process for you to think through ahead of time.

You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.

READING LIST: 

The Birth Partner by Penny Simkin :: A complete guide to childbirth for dads, partners, doulas, and other labor companions.

Doula reco: medium-strong

Philosophy: On point for the variables of the process, gives families lots of options to cope, fairly neutral in language of family configuration. 

Book Summary:

I have seen this book recommended for my entire career as a Doula. It does a pretty good job of outlining the experience and its typical variations. The language is fairly neutral using the term, “birth partner” instead of father. The book speaks directly to the pregnant person and the birth partner, so you don’t really read any direct mother/father language. But the cover of the book is a man, woman and female support, so there is an undertone of assumption on family configuration. If it feels important to you to know every possible outcome of the process, this book will go more in depth on urgent/emergent or less likely scenarios. If you feel pressed for time, or reading isn’t your main mode of learning, I’d suggest hitting the Doula spotlights below!

Doula spotlight on the most common variations:
PG 22-23 Good questions to reflect on for the supporting parent/person

PG 42 Tracking fetal movements as a good practice for safety and bonding

PG 44-49 Guidance around making a “birth plan”/”birth preferences”

PG 56-57 Guidance around preparing to meet basic needs in postpartum

PG 63-67 The signs of labor starting/lengths/components of labor

PG 74-76 How labor progresses

PG 87. Understanding the birthing parent/person’s mental/emotional needs

PG 96 Understanding the supporting parent/person’s mental emotional needs

PG 99-110 Understanding active labor/transition and common things to be mindful of

PG 127-128 Crowning and Pushing 

PG 161-178 Breathwork and movement for coping

PG 196-197 Maintaining the vibe

PG 212-224 Tools for induction, helping labor progress and tactics for back labor

PG 376-386 What to expect from the birthing person’s recovery and newborn needs in the first few days to weeks

What should I do if I can't pee after delivery?

The bladder can be impacted by how your baby descends into your pelvis and how they exit your body. It’s common to have difficulty peeing after delivery. Here are some of the ways we’ve seen families find success:

1. Put 10-15 drops of peppermint oil into the toilet and sniff the bottle as you try to pee.

2. Run water and/or put your hands into a container of warm water like you’re back in middle school.

3. Blow bubbles through a straw into a cup of water.

4. Lean to the left to help release tension.

5. Have everyone step out and take some deep breaths on your own for a few minutes.

6. Ask for a warm wash cloth to hold to your perineum. Use light counter pressure and pee into your hand.

7. Sit in a few inches of warm water, or in a chair in the shower.

Will I poop during labor or pushing?

After watching hundreds of people come out of people, what I know to be true about pooping in labor is this:

Nurses are ninjas and I RARELY see it--but 99% of you do it. TRUTH.

Almost all of the families I support evacuate their bowels at some point in labor. Picture the rectum, the cervix and the bladder as three super closer friends-- who always want to be up in each other’s business. They decide to throw a party, but that party is in a broom closet. Now picture a baby who has serious FOMO and is pressing in on all of those friends because they want to join the party too… ya’ll the party is big and the room is small. There is nowhere for anyone to go but out. So just as satisfying as it is to squeeze that last little bit of toothpaste out of the tube-- so it is similarly satisfying for your baby to squeeze every little bit of liquid and matter out of the way in order to make space for their arrival. It’s normal, it’s physiologically necessary and an outward sign that shows your care team you’re progressing farther toward delivery. We get pumped, your baby gets closer to the exit and you get to feel just a little bit lighter ;). 

Curious what others on the Brave Birth Team have to say about pooping in labor?

Nicolette Wessling of @bravebirthdoulacare says, “My favorite resource on pushing is from the book Mindful Birthing, by Nancy Bardacke. She has a section on “mindful pooping” that helps families connect to the muscles they’ll use in their pelvic floors.”

Rachael Wilson of @milkandthistledoula says, “I had a birthing person tell me that she will be really good at birthing because she is really good at pooping. And what do you know, she leaned against her counter and pushed her giant baby out with no direction from us and no tearing. Badass. So that’s my affirmation on pooping! Also very encouraging knowing we are establishing baby’s microbiome and initial immunity! I did not know til the other day that although babies receive prebiotics gestationally, they don’t actually have any bacterial flora until it’s established through birth. I just finished a book that encouraged me called Brain Health From Birth and the last chapter is all about the microbiome.” 

Tanya Hladick of @tanyadoulaphotographer says, “I like to reassure them that none of their practitioners will even bat an eye when poop happens. Pooping is a sign that they’re pushing effectively.”

Jennifer Lunceford says, “I explain ahead of time what the sensations might be and remind them what a great symptom of delivery it is, that their care team is very adept at disposing of it quickly-- either by changing the disposable pad underneath or using a cloth to whisk it away so that you can focus. Sh*t happens in birth. Practice pushing when you poo, it’s all about release.” 

Barb Buckner-Suarez of @bbucknersuarez says, “I make sure they know that pretty much 100% of folks are gonna poop at least a little bit when they're pushing their baby out because the there's just not much real estate when it comes time. Also, I encourage them prenatally to start thinking every time they poop, "This is what it's going to feel like when I'm pushing out my babe" because the brain will do this weird thing of like, "Wrong hole! Wrong hole!" and inadvertently, they will hold back and that makes the pushing stage WAY longer than it has to be. Lastly, folks need really good guidance when pushing so they know they're making progress. I think the brain is expecting to be able to feel different body parts moving through - but it's a solid wall of pressure until the head is delivered. So they need to know that and then have someone tell them they are making good progress throughout (shortens 2nd stage for sure!)”