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So, not a spooky post today.

Well… I guess it’s kind of spooky for me because I’m a first-time mom and I still have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

We went in for baby girl’s weight check, and she’s 9.5 ounces over her birth weight. Which is good! She lost weight before we left the hospital, like babies do, and she’s slowly been gaining it back.

But this was technically her two-week appointment, even though she’s already three weeks old. And because she’s almost a month old, her doctor would like to see her gaining a little faster. Ideally, she’d be closer to a pound, if not two pounds, over her birth weight by now.

So we’re going back again next week to check her weight.

And I’m trying really hard not to let that number get into my head.

But it has.

I feel like I’m failing her.

I know that sounds dramatic. I know that 9.5 ounces over her birth weight is good. I know she’s eating. I know she’s growing. I know that babies gain weight at different rates.

But when you’re the person responsible for feeding this tiny human, hearing that she isn’t gaining as quickly as her doctor would like feels like a personal failure.

We’ve struggled with breastfeeding from the beginning. She has trouble latching, and every feeding can feel like a little battle. Everyone tells you breastfeeding takes time and patience, and I know they mean well.

But it’s really hard want to continue this battle of breastfeeding or to be patient when you’re now sitting there wondering if your baby is getting enough to eat.

And I think that’s what has been weighing on me the most.

I had really hoped that we could eventually cut down on formula and breastfeed exclusively. Instead, we may actually need to increase her formula because she needs more calories than she’s currently getting.

And I feel guilty about that.

I feel guilty saying that because I know formula is perfectly fine. I know fed is best. I know there is nothing wrong with giving your baby formula.

But knowing something logically and feeling it emotionally are two very different things.

I’ve decided that I’m going to start pumping exclusively instead of continuing to try to breastfeed directly. The latching has been such a struggle, and I think pumping might be a way for her to still get my breast milk without putting both of us through the stress of trying to get her latched every time.

And maybe that will work better for us.

But a part of me keeps wondering if I’m giving up too soon.

Maybe I should try harder.

Maybe I should breastfeed more.

Maybe I should pump more.

Maybe if I just did one more thing, she would gain the way she’s supposed to.

And then I remember that when we were exclusively breastfeeding at the beginning, her blood sugar dropped enough that she had to be sent to the NICU.

So now there’s this little voice in the back of my head saying, See? Your body isn’t giving her what she needs.

And I hate that voice.

Because I don’t actually believe that.

At least, I don’t want to believe that.

But it’s hard not to when breastfeeding hasn’t gone the way I imagined it would.

I think there’s something particularly painful about breastfeeding because it feels so personal. It’s literally your body feeding your baby. So when it doesn’t work the way you thought it would, it’s really easy to feel like you are the problem.

And I know I’m only three weeks into motherhood.

Three weeks.

I’m still learning who my baby is. I’m still learning her cries and her little faces and what she likes and dislikes. I’m still figuring out how to get through a day without wondering if I’m doing something wrong.

And yet somehow I’ve already managed to put this enormous amount of pressure on myself to get everything right.

I want to be able to feed her.

I want her to gain weight.

I want her to be healthy.

I want to feel like I know what I’m doing.

And right now, I don’t.

I’m scared that I’m not enough for her.

That’s the part I don’t really know how to say without crying.

Because she’s so little, and she depends on me for everything, and I want so badly to be the person who can give her everything she needs.

But maybe being her mom doesn’t mean I have to be able to do everything myself.

Maybe sometimes being her mom means admitting that something isn’t working and changing the plan.

Maybe it means giving her formula when she needs formula.

Maybe it means pumping instead of nursing.

Maybe it means trying breastfeeding again someday, or maybe it means not trying again.

Maybe it means letting go of the version of motherhood I thought I was going to have and figuring out the version that’s actually right for us.

I don’t know yet.

And honestly, that’s hard.

I thought the scary part of becoming a mom would be the birth. Or the sleep deprivation. Or keeping a tiny human alive.

I didn’t realize how much of it would be questioning yourself.

Am I feeding her enough?

Is she gaining enough?

Am I doing this right?

Am I enough?

I don’t have the answers yet.

I’m just three weeks in.

So for now, I’m going to pump. I’m going to give her formula. I’m going to feed my baby however I need to feed my baby. And we’re going back next week to see how she’s doing.

And I’m going to try — really, really try — to remember that needing to change the plan doesn’t mean I failed.

It just means I’m her mom.

And I’m figuring it out.

One feeding, one bottle, one pumping session, and apparently one terrifying little number on the scale at a time.

Because Long Beach is currently having a bit of a heat wave, I started thinking about my ideal fall day — mostly because I would like to experience fall at some point this year.

I love fall. I love the sweaters, the pumpkins, the cozy drinks, the changing leaves, the general permission to make everything vaguely cinnamon-scented… but perhaps my favorite part is that the mosquitoes are supposed to die.

So why, exactly, are we in October with 100-degree weather and a shit ton of mosquitoes?

I remember when fall started in early September. September used to mean cooler mornings and pulling out the occasional cardigan. Now September is basically August wearing a different name tag, and apparently October didn’t get the memo either.

Anyway. Back to my ideal fall day before I get too distracted yelling at the weather.

I want crisp morning air, golden-hour light, and lower crowds. I want to wake up early, grab a coffee, and drive somewhere that actually feels like fall.

I’ve been told that if you want actual fall vibes in Southern California — you know, colorful leaves and temperatures that don’t make you question your life choices — you need to head into the mountains rather than the coast.

And honestly? That sounds lovely.

I’d love to drive up to Big Bear Lake, Lake Arrowhead, or Idyllwild for pine-scented air, crisp morning temperatures, cute little towns, and trees that are actually changing colors. I want to wander around, grab something warm to drink, maybe do a little shopping, take approximately 700 pictures of leaves, and generally romanticize my life.

Basically, I want one of those fall days where you can wear a sweater without immediately becoming a human crockpot.

For the most part, though, Hector and I visit a pumpkin patch and call it a day — and this year is probably no different. Honestly, I’m perfectly happy with that. Give me some pumpkins, a cute photo opportunity, something pumpkin-flavored that probably doesn’t need to be pumpkin-flavored, and I’m calling it a successful fall outing.

When the baby is older, I’d love to start planning more actual fall day trips. Apple picking, little mountain towns, scenic drives, cider, maybe a weekend somewhere with real autumn leaves. I want the whole cozy fall experience.

But that’s a few years away.

For now, we’ll stick with our pumpkin patch tradition and enjoy whatever version of fall Southern California decides to give us.

Although, Southern California, I am begging you: it is October. Put the 100-degree weather away. The mosquitoes are already overstaying their welcome.