Fragile, Fearful, and Figuring It Out: Letting Go of Expectations in New Motherhood

Talaya Murphy
Jul 24
3 min read

When I found out I was pregnant, one of the few things that made me feel slightly grounded was knowing that my boyfriend—now fiancé—already has three kids. I thought, Whew, at least one of us has done this before. That gave me a little comfort, a sense that I wouldn’t be walking into this parenting thing totally blind.

But let me tell you something: nothing—nothing—prepared me for how petrified I would feel once our daughter was actually in my arms.

And I don’t mean a little nervous. I mean full-on, irrational, postpartum-induced panic. And that’s coming from someone who’s the oldest of seven siblings (not all under one household, thank goodness). I’d helped with diaper changes and babysitting over the years, but I had never cared for an infant this tiny, this delicate, this… mine.

She Looked Like a Porcelain Doll… and I Was Terrified to Break Her

Our baby girl was so small, so fragile, I honestly thought I might accidentally break her. Everything about her felt sacred—her little fingers, her floppy neck, the way she squeaked instead of cried. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

I remember when her umbilical cord stump finally fell off and we were cleared to give her a bath, THE first real bath. Jose was ready. Me? I suddenly became the designated bath supervisor. I stood there like a background character in a movie—watching from the sidelines, praying silently, and holding my breath like it was an Olympic event.

I know babies don’t just drown from a bath in two inches of water. I know that. But postpartum anxiety had other ideas. Every worst-case scenario would flash across my brain. For months—months—I avoided giving her a bath alone unless absolutely necessary. It wasn’t until she was maybe four or five months old that I finally felt comfortable bathing her by myself without a supervisor. Until then, if Jose wasn’t home, it was sponge bath city.

Dressing Her? Also a 30-Minute Ordeal.

Same thing with getting her dressed. I’d sit there forever, mentally psyching myself up just to change her onesie. I was so scared I’d accidentally bend her the wrong way or snap her little arm through a sleeve too hard. She looked too perfect—too doll-like—to be real.

And let’s be honest, babies are not patient clients. They wiggle, they cry, they poop mid-diaper change. And even though blowouts are normal, they feel like DEFCON 1 when you’re already on edge and scared to touch the baby wrong.

The Weight of Expectations

All of this taught me something big: expectations can do more harm than good.

I had this vision of what labor, delivery, and postpartum would look like. I expected one kind of birth, and got a C-section. I expected a smoother recovery, and got a physical and emotional rollercoaster. And I expected my family to show up a certain way… and they didn’t.

In my mind, I had built this cinematic moment where I’d be surrounded by balloons, flowers, and a revolving door of visitors celebrating my entrance into the motherhood club. And while a few people did show up—and I’m grateful for that—it wasn’t how I imagined. It didn’t match the dream.

And honestly? That hurt.

But I had to face the truth: I can’t put my expectations onto other people. I can’t expect them to respond or show up how I would. Everyone’s carrying their own baggage, their own limitations, their own stuff.

Grief, Grace, and Growth

And yes, you’re allowed to grieve that. You’re allowed to feel disappointed. You're allowed to acknowledge that reality didn’t match the dream—and still move forward. That’s the paradox of early motherhood: holding gratitude in one hand and unmet expectations in the other.

It’s okay to feel both. I do.

So if you’re a new mom out there feeling overwhelmed, under-supported, or scared that you’re doing it wrong—you’re not alone. It’s okay to take your time, to ask for help, and to let go of those picture-perfect expectations. You’re doing more than you think, even when you’re terrified.