My husband helped me on and off the toilet when I was recovering from having our son. 🧻🥹
At one point, I was able to go on my own but couldn’t quite make it back to bed. So, he lifted me off the toilet, pulled my adult diaper up, and carried me back to bed.
When he tucked me in, he told me…
“You gave me my son. Let me give you your strength back.”
I remember those words like they were stitched into my heart. I was exhausted — body trembling, stitches aching, emotions all over the place. I didn’t feel like myself. I felt broken, raw, and somehow… small.
But in that moment, he looked at me like I was the strongest person alive.
The First Few Days After Birth
Those early days after childbirth were brutal. People talk about the miracle of life, the glow of motherhood — but not enough about the pain, the swelling, the tears you shed silently at 2 a.m. because you can’t even sit comfortably or lift your baby without wincing.
My body felt foreign. My reflection looked tired and swollen. I was leaking milk, hormones, and emotions all at once.
And through it all — my husband stayed. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, didn’t act grossed out.
He learned how to help me change pads, how to hold the peri bottle, how to swaddle our son, and how to make me laugh when I felt like crying.
The Night I Hit Rock Bottom
One night, I tried to do everything myself. He had been awake for two nights straight, rocking our newborn so I could sleep. I didn’t want to bother him again.
I tried to get to the bathroom alone. My legs trembled. The pain pulsed through my abdomen. I made it — barely — but when I tried to get up, my vision blurred.
I remember whispering, “I can’t.”
And then suddenly, his arms were around me.
He didn’t scold me. He didn’t sigh in frustration. He just whispered, “You don’t have to.”
He lifted me like I was made of glass — gentle, steady — pulled my diaper up, wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me back to bed.
Then he kissed my forehead and said softly,
“You’ve done the hardest thing in the world. Now let me take care of you.”
The Unseen Side of Love
I used to think love was about flowers, dates, and butterflies.
But now I know — real love looks like him sitting beside me at 3 a.m., holding our baby in one arm and my hand in the other.
It looks like him Googling “how to help your wife with postpartum pain,” and then cooking oatmeal because he read somewhere that it helps with milk production.
It’s him saying, “You’re beautiful,” when I’m bloated, bleeding, and wearing mesh underwear.
It’s him not being afraid of my body when I was.
Healing Together
Recovery wasn’t easy. There were nights I sobbed into his chest, feeling like I was failing as a mom.
He’d hold me tighter and whisper, “You’re not failing. You’re healing.”
And slowly, I did.
He’d cheer me on for the smallest victories — standing up on my own, walking a few extra steps, finally feeling confident enough to shower without his help.
He made me laugh again.
He made me feel human again.
And when I finally held our baby and didn’t feel pain — just love — I realized that healing isn’t something you do alone.
Sometimes, it’s something someone gives you back, piece by piece, with tenderness and patience.
The Moment That Changed Everything
About two weeks after giving birth, I woke up in the middle of the night. The room was dark, except for the faint glow of the baby monitor.
My husband was sitting in the rocking chair, holding our son against his chest. He was humming softly — that same off-key tune he always hums when he’s nervous.
I watched him for a while. The man who once fainted at the sight of a blood test was now completely fearless when it came to taking care of me — and our baby.
I started to cry, quietly this time.
Because I finally understood what partnership really meant.
It’s not just loving someone when they’re beautiful and strong. It’s loving them when they’re vulnerable, messy, and aching — and still seeing them as whole.
Months Later
Now, months later, I’m healed physically. The scars have faded. But what he did for me — the patience, the gentleness, the care — that will never fade.
Sometimes he jokes, “Remember when I had to carry you to the toilet?” and we both laugh. But behind that laugh is something deeper: gratitude.
Because he didn’t just help me heal from childbirth — he helped me believe in the kind of love that doesn’t walk away when things get real.
The Quiet Heroes
Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear rumpled pajamas, hold a newborn in one arm, and help their wife up from the toilet with the other.
They don’t ask for praise. They don’t expect recognition. They just love.
And that’s what got me through those first, painful weeks of motherhood — not just my strength, but his.
Because when I was too weak to stand, his love carried me.
And when I was ready to walk again — he walked beside me.
