Published October 9, 2025

Excerpt: The Mother

A new memoir explores the messy reality of being a new mom—bruised boobs and all.

Excerpt from graphic memoir The Mother.

“The first few days of breastfeeding actually felt like this:” Boxcutters, forks, daggers, and broken glass pierce her breasts.

“What the fuck! Does she have fangs?” My nipples were bruised and bloody. The pain of the latch woke me fully at night, making it hard to go back to sleep after I fed her.

Internet searches: Sleep regression. How to sleep when baby sleeps? Make little human sleep. Baby no sleep. Night rage. When do parents sleep through the night? Are other moms better? Can you live with no sleep? Spells for sleep. How do I know if I’ve been cursed? When do babies become normal people? Eye of newt a real thing?

A dream of a wayward boob.

After I started breastfeeding, I contemplated the pros and cons of boobs.

Marc and I began to have late-night fights. “Grrr.” “What did you say?” It was as if we drunkenly took swings at each other and lost our balance each time. “Did you change her diaper? Please tell me you changed it!” “I’m elbow-deep in shit right now!” “I’ve changed her diaper the last four times.” “I do at least as much as you!”

“What? I’m breastfeeding!” “I’m working my ass off too!” We hated each other just as much as we loved each other. Maybe more. I was so tired. We were being torn apart. Or maybe just drifting away from each other like canoes on a day with no wind.

We fought in sleep wars where the winner was the one who could prove the other had more sleep. “You slept last night!” “You look rested!” “You had a nap!” “You dozed off just now!” “Hardest-working parent prize” No one won. Because no one was getting enough sleep.

We had no family to help. Marc’s parents were in France and mine were six hours away. My friends were overwhelmed with their own stressful lives. For the first year, I felt too guilty and scared to hire a babysitter because they would be a stranger. So we were on our own. It was isolating and so hard. Instead of being mad at the world, we were mad at each other. It was easier.

“You blinked! I just saw you blink for an extra long time. That counts as sleep!” “I let you go to bed early before I brought her to you! That’s way more sleep!” Despite the ridiculousness of our fights, to us, they were life and death. Respect versus contempt. They were a reminder we were alone in the world. During our fights I felt incredibly lonely.

Just like when I was little.

In my darkest and most exhausted moment, I told him: “Give me five years until the kid is a bit older and then we can just call it quits. I won’t need you anymore. We can both be free.” “Well, fuck you! Fuck you!” “You’re an asshole.”

Rachel. It’s me. From before. From before you became a mother. From when you were slutty and hot. I’m wearing a chunky heel.

“Where did you go? I needed you. I miss you.” “I’m having lots of sex. Well, not only that. I’m dancing and going to outdoor concerts.” “You’re having fun. I’m jealous.” “But late at night, I’m lonely. I’m still waiting for a family and children. I still want to press my face against theirs.” “I’m sorry. I remember those nights.” “You were once queen of the night.”

“I’m so happy, but so exhausted. And I doubt myself all the time.” “Sweetie.” “And the worst is, I’m worried I won’t be able to ever really love my daughter and Marc.” “Ugh. You still have that problem.” “How do I love if I don’t know how to fully do so?” “You have to figure that one out. You just have to.”

When I was around twelve…I got stung by a bee. Even though my knee swelled up, I knew I was ok. But I wanted to be taken care of. I said it was hurting so we should go to the hospital. My mom took me to the ER. She knew I was ok too. It was a rare time we were alone together and I didn’t want it to end.

We sat in the waiting room for hours. “The principal kept talking but the bug was crawling higher and higher up her arm.” I talked about silly things so my mom would laugh. “Me and Shana were laughing so hard we were crying and then I peed my pants!” She was in a great mood. “You’re so funny!” I was so happy. When it was evening, we had sushi. Since my mom hardly ever ate, it was all for me.

By the time the doctor saw me, my knee was almost back to its original size. “You’re good to go!” There was barely any sign of the sting. We walked out into the evening light. And went home. So many memories of my mother were of the distance between us. I cherished this memory of our special day together at the hospital. Maybe it was hard for her to be close to me. Maybe our relationship was too competitive. Or, maybe we just weren’t very compatible. But on the day of the bee sting, I felt my mother’s love.

Now, as a new mother, I was sad and angry, but happy too. How could I feel so many opposing feelings?

We got into a routine where I’d go to bed around 8pm and Marc would stay on the couch with Ninon sleeping on his chest until 11pm, when she’d want milk. He’d bring her to me, and I’d take over until 6am. He’d take her back until 8am, when he left for work. Sleep was everything. We aggressively pursued it like crazed hunters.

When I did sleep, I had weird dreams.

117: I dreamt of a series of half women, half animals, each more terrifyingly exhausted and magical than the last. In the middle was the most tired of all the animals, and it was me.

“Sleep”

There were moments during the day when I was joyful and awake. 2pm: Everything about this baby is magical. These noises are simply angelic! 2am: At night, the same noises drove me mad.

Rachel on a flying trapeze holding a diaper, a cup of coffee, and a binky.

Marc on a flying trapeze holding a diaper and a baby bottle.

Meanwhile, we kept having big fights. “Do you even love me anymore? Am I just a helper? Am I still your partner?” “Yes and yes! She’s your kid too! You’re a dad, not a helper!” “I know, I know. Don’t make this into some feminist thing. I just need a little love and affection. You do so much for her. I just need a little bit for me.”

“I don’t do anything for you? I’m raising our child! I take care of her so you can go to work!” “But for me! Like something just for me!” “Are you kidding? I have nothing left to give.” “You're being selfish. You just care about yourself.”

Rachel silently slides down a wall, onto the floor.

It had become scary to look each other in the eyes. “Look, you know I love you, right? We’re both just tired and have so little to give.” “But why do you say this stuff? Why do you say I’m selfish? It hurts!” “I hurt too.”

The baby cries. Rachel says, “I’ll go.”

Rachel picks up the baby in a dark room, and smiles at it.

I was in love with my baby and lonely for adult love. Maybe Marc and I both felt that way. There were moments of intense beauty.

From my parents, I’d learned that adult love meant stewing in resentment and alienation. I’d seen that parenting was hard and that relationships got really tense and complicated.

I didn’t want this for my life. But here we were.

The pieces of my past were still stuck between my fingers and wrapped around my knuckles. I knew I’d have to peel them away. But how?

Come here. I love you. It will get better. But how?

Do you want it to? I do.

The Mother cover

Purchase "The Mother" by Rachel Deutsch

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