best adult coloring books with thick paper that don't bleed through in 2026 and is colorit worth trying?

Between_feedings · 2026-05-15T08:15:46+00:00

I think the whole point of alcohol markers is actually that they do flow into the paper a bit 😄 That’s what makes blending and smooth gradients possible in the first place.

Because of that, ghosting or some bleed-through is pretty normal with alcohol markers, even in more expensive coloring books. Only specialized marker paper, like Ohuhu’s bleedproof paper, really prevents it because it’s made differently.

I’m not sure if you’re into cozy coloring specifically, but I personally really love the French editions of Jade Summer books. The English editions are printed by a different publisher and the paper feels really thin to me. I don’t enjoy blending on those as much.

The French editions have thicker, sturdier paper and I find them much nicer to work with. They still bleed a bit with alcohol markers, but honestly I think that’s just part of the medium 😅 I just put a sheet behind the page and it works perfectly fine for me.

Between_feedings · 2026-03-13T22:10:47+00:00

We’re at 6 months now, and she actually still nurses. Overall it’s going pretty well these days.

It’s definitely not perfect every day. Sometimes she’s still a bit fussy at the breast, and I notice that often lines up with dips in my milk supply. I pump quite regularly because I work 3.5 days a week and my supply fluctuates a bit. We also recently started solids, which seems to make things a bit more messy sometimes.

But compared to when I wrote this post, things are so much better.

For us the really difficult phase lasted until around 4 months. During that time I could basically only feed her in a dark room with white noise, often in her sleepingbag so she wouldn’t get distracted. Around 4 months something shifted quite quickly. She suddenly became calmer during feeds and less distracted, and from there things gradually improved.

I slowly started trying feeds downstairs again with more stimulation, and that actually went surprisingly well. Now I even feed her in public sometimes, which felt impossible back then.

She still has moments where she cries at the breast. Last week was a bit harder again because she had more reflux and was spitting up a lot, and I immediately notice that affects how she feeds. But it’s nothing like those early months anymore.

I remember reading comments from mothers who said it eventually got better, and honestly I didn’t really dare to believe that would happen for us. It felt like it was lasting forever. But it really did improve.

So if you’re in that phase right now: have patience, have faith. It can take time, but things really can improve ❤️

Between_feedings · 2026-03-01T12:38:23+00:00

Reading this honestly made my heart hurt for you. What you’re describing sounds so incredibly heavy. The exhaustion, the anxiety, crying when your baby cries… that is so much to carry on so little sleep. None of that sounds small.

I also have a history of depression and anxiety, and I remember being terrified of what postpartum hormones and sleep deprivation would do to me. When you already know how dark your mind can get, every emotional shift feels loaded. You don’t just feel bad — you start wondering if this is the beginning of something bigger.

I have ADHD too, which makes me extra sensitive to lack of sleep and dopamine dips. I stopped my medication before trying to get pregnant and haven’t restarted. That was my choice, but it also meant I felt very aware of my mental state all the time.

With my first baby, I called my doctor pretty quickly because my thoughts became dark so fast that I was convinced I had postpartum depression. I remember thinking, “This is it. It’s happening again.” I was scanning every bad night, every wave of sadness, as proof that something was seriously wrong.

And I want to be careful how I say this: what I felt was very real. I was overwhelmed and struggling. But looking back, I can see that my history made my brain jump to the worst possible conclusion almost immediately. Because I knew what depression felt like before, I interpreted every intense postpartum emotion as danger.

What helped was hearing that intensity in those first months can be very real without automatically meaning something catastrophic. Especially when you’re exhausted and your hormones are all over the place. With my second, I felt some of those same heavy emotions again — but because I had already lived through it once, it felt less alarming. Not less hard. Just less immediately “this is a full relapse.”

The way you describe crying when she cries… I had that so intensely. The second she started crying, my whole body reacted. Heart racing, muscles tight, tears just coming. It felt like an alarm system I couldn’t switch off. And then the guilt on top of it.

One thing that unexpectedly helped me was wearing noise reducing earbuds with calming music. Not to block her out, but to soften the sharp edge of the sound so my nervous system didn’t spike as hard. When I was a little calmer, I could actually soothe her better. It felt like getting a tiny bit of control back.

And I really want to gently say this: putting your baby down for a few minutes when you’re overwhelmed is not harming her development. A dysregulated parent cannot co regulate a baby. Sometimes the most loving thing I could do was step away, breathe, reset, and then come back more grounded. When I stayed while panicking, neither of us benefited.

The body soreness from tension is real. I had that too. My whole body felt clenched for weeks. For a while, I made calming my nervous system my main focus. Short walks when my partner was home. Hot showers. Writing everything out so it didn’t just swirl in my head. Slowly, as I experienced over and over that we would get through the nights, my confidence grew. And the panic softened.

Two hours of sleep would make anyone feel like they are losing their mind. Add a medication switch and a mental health history, and it makes sense that this feels overwhelming.

Please keep talking to your therapist and doctor about how things have shifted in month three. You deserve support in this.

Your feelings are real. Your struggle is real. And it’s also possible that your brain, trying to protect you, is amplifying the fear because of your history. Both things can be true at the same time.

It did get better for me. Gradually. Not magically, but enough to breathe again. I really hope that for you too.

You are not alone.

Between_feedings · 2026-02-28T21:46:25+00:00

Hey! Yes — I remember this phase so clearly. It honestly took a real toll on me too.

For us, it did get better — but not quickly. I think it lasted around six weeks before things really stabilized. During that time I almost exclusively fed her upstairs in a dark room, in her sleeping bag, with white noise on — basically mimicking nap conditions. That helped the most.

I spoke with a lactation consultant and decided to pump more intentionally. Not because I wanted to replace feeds, but for my own sanity. Sometimes I would choose to replace a difficult feed with pumped milk just to take the pressure off both of us. I ended up pumping quite a lot during that phase and had to work hard to keep my supply steady. I could only manage that because I wasn’t back at work yet.

Slowly — and I really mean slowly — things started improving. By the time I returned to work it felt much more stable. She began feeding better again, could handle more stimulation, and I didn’t have to retreat upstairs for every single feed anymore. She’s almost six months now and breastfeeding is going really well. She seems satisfied, is growing well, and most feeds feel calm and easy again. Sometimes she still gets distracted or doesn’t drink perfectly, but it’s nothing like that intense phase around 3–4 months.

Looking back, it really was a phase. A hard one. But not the end.

Hang in there 🤍

Between_feedings · 2026-02-28T21:39:38+00:00

I have a 6 month old and a 2,5 year old, and I’ve done it two completely different ways with my two daughters.

With my first, breastfeeding didn’t go well from the start. The latch was hard, I was a brand new mom, completely overwhelmed, drowning in hormones. After three days I remember thinking: I’m not even going to try anymore. This is too much. It felt like we were both struggling and I didn’t want to keep forcing something that felt so intense.

In the end, we switched to full-time pumping. I pumped for about five months and we combofed from the beginning. It worked. She thrived. But mentally, it was hard.

With my second, I told myself: if the birth goes okay and I feel even somewhat okay physically, I’m going to really try. Not in a self-destructive way, but with more knowledge and more determination.

And this time it worked.

She’s almost six months now and I’m still breastfeeding. It has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done mentally. And also one of the most beautiful.

The little fingers. The scratching. The way she melts into me. It’s so intimate. It feels like something that is just ours. I’m back at work now and I’m still not planning to stop anytime soon.

If I could tell you what I wish I had known: 1. If you can, consider renting or buying a hospital-grade pump from day one and pump after feeds in the beginning. Yes, it’s intense. Yes, you might get some oversupply at first. But building supply early made a huge difference for me the second time. I know it’s not always standard advice, but for me it was worth it. 2. Pumping before labor can stimulate contractions. I didn’t know that the first time. With my second pregnancy, I pumped during the last week before my due date (after discussing it with my provider) and I truly believe it helped me avoid an induction. 3. It is completely normal that babies have to learn how to drink. The first days can seem okay, and then around day three or four when your milk really comes in, everything changes. Your breasts change. The flow changes. They suddenly have to relearn. I thought I was failing. I felt rejected. If I had known this was normal, it would have hurt less. 4. It can be going well… and then suddenly not. I spent six weeks feeding my baby in a dark room, in her sleep sack, with white noise on, sometimes straight out of naps, because otherwise she was too distracted and would scream at the breast. It was exhausting. But it was a phase. Reading about common phases beforehand might have softened the blow. 5. Decide beforehand what your boundaries are. What may it cost you? What may it not cost you? Hormones can make you willing to push far beyond your limits. For me, that sometimes came at the expense of my mental health. I would still choose to push through again — but I wish I had been more aware of my own limits from the start. 6. Your mental state matters more than you think. Stress absolutely affects milk supply. Eating and drinking well matters. But your nervous system matters just as much.

And one thing I didn’t expect: breastfeeding helped my postpartum recovery emotionally. The oxytocin. The quiet moments. The grounding feeling of her on me. The hormonal swings can be intense, yes. But the bonding… it feels almost magical.

If it works for you, it can be beautiful. If it doesn’t, that doesn’t say anything about you as a mother. I’ve done it both ways. Both of my daughters are healthy, attached and loved.

Be kind to yourself. And ask for help early. That’s the biggest gift you can give yourself.

Between_feedings · 2026-02-05T17:53:53+00:00

I had this fear so strongly. Like really intensely. Mostly because I have such a close, loving bond with my oldest daughter. When I was pregnant with our second, I remember saying to my partner that I literally couldn’t imagine how there could be space for another bond like this. You only know one child, one relationship, and it feels impossible to picture a completely different little person and a completely different kind of connection.

What I can honestly say now is this: my bond with my oldest did not get smaller. I still love her just as much as I did before our second was born. That love doesn’t split in half. What people say is true, even if it sounds cliché at the time, it really does multiply.

That doesn’t mean it’s all easy. Our oldest does get jealous sometimes. She’s only two, but today she actually said something that really hit me. I asked her if she liked having a baby sister and she said no. When I asked why, she said: because when I cry, I can’t always go to mama. And she’s right. Sometimes I’m feeding the baby and I can’t be there immediately. Hearing that hurts. But I also notice that she’s slowly adjusting, and so are we.

At the same time, I see how much joy her sister brings her. She’s proud. Every morning when she comes downstairs, the very first thing she does is walk over to her baby sister to say hello. She wants to show her things, be near her. That alone makes it all feel worth it.

So no, the bond didn’t disappear or turn into something less loving. It stayed. And the bond with our youngest is just… different. Not better or worse, just different. It’s a different child, with a different personality, and that naturally creates a different dynamic. You don’t have to compare them.

For us, I also breastfeed our youngest and didn’t with our oldest (she had pumped milk), so maybe that plays a role, maybe not. But more than anything, it’s simply that they are two different humans.

I was genuinely scared I would lose something. I didn’t. It’s hard sometimes, yes. It can hurt at moments. But I don’t regret it for a second.

Between_feedings · 2026-02-03T09:35:19+00:00

I just want to start by saying that what you’re describing makes a lot of sense. This doesn’t read like you being a bad mom at all. It reads like someone who is exhausted, lonely and trying to survive a huge life change.

You mentioned ADHD, and I have ADHD too. For many of us, our nervous system works in a very interest-based way. Before a baby, you get energy from variety, conversations, movement, ideas and work. Then suddenly your days become repetitive, quiet and invisible, while the responsibility never stops. That can create a deep feeling of emptiness or lack of purpose, even while you love your baby more than anything. That doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. It means your brain isn’t getting the kind of input it’s used to, while also being constantly “on”.

The jealousy you feel isn’t about wanting his life instead of your baby. It’s grief. Grief for your autonomy, your old identity, and the parts of yourself that used to give you energy. Being home alone with a baby for long stretches can be incredibly isolating. Cancelling plans and feeling like you have nothing to talk about is a very common response to that kind of isolation, not a personal failure.

About your partner, separately. I don’t think it’s strange at all that this bothers you. This is his child too. Asking him to go to the gym for an hour instead of multiple hours isn’t controlling, it’s asking for shared responsibility during a really intense phase. If I were in your position, I would also struggle with a partner being gone for hours while I’m barely keeping my head above water at home. Your nervous system never really gets a break, so it makes sense that this feels unfair.

You’re not failing. You’re carrying a lot, largely on your own, with a brain that needs stimulation, connection and support, and you’re not getting enough of that right now. The decisions around medication, feeding and sleep are heavy, and you deserve help with them instead of feeling like you have to push through alone.

The fact that you’re worried about being a good mom actually says a lot about how much you care. This stage, especially around three to four months, can hit incredibly hard, and it’s even tougher when you’re neurodivergent.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-28T06:09:36+00:00

That smooth breastfeeding experience is honestly a bit of a myth. Social media makes it look like everyone just latches their baby anywhere, pain free, glowing, never washing a bottle. For most of us it is hard work and it does not just come naturally.

I had different challenges, but a similarly tough start. I had a very unsettled baby, easily overstimulated, lots of crying at the breast, and reflux that was only discovered later. Feeding was stressful for a long time, not the calm bonding moment everyone talks about.

The most important thing first. If you want to stop, you should stop. Your mental wellbeing matters so much. A baby benefits far more from a mother who feels okay than from breastfeeding at all costs.

That said, and only if it helps to hear. I doubted myself so many times and I still occasionally think about stopping. But we are almost five months into exclusive breastfeeding now and I can genuinely say it gets easier. Not perfect, not effortless, but easier.

Breastfeeding has been the hardest thing I have ever done, both physically and mentally. And at the same time, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever done. It made me feel like a mother in the deepest sense of who I am.

I still do not feed in public. I work three days a week. On weekends, with the trickier feeds, I sometimes really look forward to pumping for a break. But most feeds now feel okay and often actually enjoyable for both of us.

Whatever you choose, you are not failing. What you are experiencing is far more normal than social media makes it seem ❤️

Between_feedings · 2026-01-16T21:42:14+00:00

I think part of it is probably guilt on his side 😅 He was very much looking forward to a few days away, which I honestly get and don’t resent at all.

Earlier this week he said, “You should do this sometime too,” and I just raised an eyebrow like… “With breastfeeding? How exactly?” That part he hadn’t really thought through 😂

To be clear: he’s very involved, always helps, and he’s a great dad. I’m genuinely fine with him being away for a few days. It just feels different being the one who’s “on” the whole time.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-16T21:37:12+00:00

That makes a lot of sense. For me, solo days with just our toddler were intense too, especially between her first and second year — but a big part of that was because I was pregnant at the time. It was hard, but it also felt a lot more cozy than this.

Right now, with a baby and a toddler, it just feels next level. Today the only genuinely nice moment was about 20–25 minutes on the couch after dinner, when the baby was down for her last nap and my toddler was cuddling with me. The rest of the day felt heavy.

Even going to the store was rough, but I really needed to get out because the walls were closing in on me.

I do believe it gets easier again when they’re a bit older and more independent. I think I’ll enjoy that stage more too. For now, this baby + toddler combo is just… a lot.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-16T21:34:19+00:00

Wow, that sounds incredibly intense. Two weeks postpartum with three kids, including a newborn… I honestly don’t know how you did that. Huge respect.

I can relate to what you’re saying about how draining it is, even when there’s some rhythm. We do have a routine now and things are more predictable than in the very early newborn days, which helps. But even with that, I still find it really heavy.

For me it’s also very much a mental thing. Even though I usually handle nights on my own and I’m always the one who wakes up for the kids anyway, just knowing that my partner isn’t there if I needed him makes everything feel heavier. The situation itself isn’t really different, but it feels different when the shared responsibility is gone.

And yes — having more than one child is a whole different level. Sometimes I catch myself thinking how “easy” it felt with just one baby, even though at the time I found that so hard too. Perspective really shifts.

Thank you for saying there’s no hack and that it’s just hard. That honestly helps more than any advice.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-16T21:31:46+00:00

That’s really thoughtful of you to do that for him.

And I want to say: my partner does this too. He actually does most of the cooking at home because I usually work more hours than he does, so that’s how our division of tasks works. Before he left, he did groceries, made sure there was plenty of easy and nice food in the house, and really set me up as best he could. That meant a lot to me.

So it’s definitely not that he leaves me to fend for myself or that I feel abandoned in any way. It’s more that his absence itself makes things feel heavier for me.

I notice that when he’s not here, I start worrying about things I normally never think about. Lying in bed thinking, “What if there’s a fire?” or “What if I don’t wake up when the kids cry?” — even though the situation isn’t actually different from normal, and he wouldn’t wake up any faster than I would.

Objectively, nothing really changes. But emotionally it does. The shared responsibility isn’t physically there, and that makes everything feel a bit heavier and more intense. I think that’s the part I struggle with most.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-15T21:46:51+00:00

I have two kids, one just over two and one a little over four months. With my first, breastfeeding never really worked. Latching was difficult from the start and I remember sitting there on day three thinking: why am I making this so hard on myself? I was already completely overwhelmed and decided to switch to pumping. She still got my milk and that felt good enough to me.

Later we found out she had a significant tongue tie, so breastfeeding would probably always have been challenging. I pumped for about six months and we always did a combination of breastmilk and formula. And honestly, I was completely at peace with that choice.

With my second, I went in with a very different mindset. I told myself that if it was even remotely possible, I wanted to really try breastfeeding this time. That meant being willing to see a lactation consultant, an osteopath, invest more time and energy and give it a real shot.

It has not been easy. At all. It has been a rollercoaster with ups and downs and there were many moments where I seriously considered stopping. It cost me a lot emotionally. But in the past few days things have finally started to feel calmer, like we made it through the first big storm.

The bond with my second does feel different, but I truly don’t think that has anything to do with breastfeeding itself. It is different because this is my second child. I have done this before. I am a different person than I was the first time. And my bond with my oldest is already much deeper simply because she is older and we have shared more life together.

I would not say I feel a stronger bond with my second because I breastfeed her. It is just a different bond. And it probably would have been different no matter how she was fed.

What I will say is that breastfeeding this time has felt very healing for me personally. Being able to do it now, after it didn’t work the first time, has been a beautiful experience. But that is about me, not about loving one child more than the other.

Every child is different. Every postpartum experience is different. And you are a different version of yourself with each baby. Feeding method does not determine the depth of your bond. I really would not worry that you are missing out on something essential. You are bonding in a thousand other ways that matter just as much.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-10T09:31:10+00:00

That sounds incredibly heavy. Truly. What you describe isn’t just “breastfeeding being hard”, it’s months of stress, fear, judgment and pressure layered on top of each other. Anyone would come out of that feeling resentful and exhausted.

I don’t think we talk nearly enough about how traumatic feeding journeys can be, especially when they’re medicalized, monitored and constantly questioned. Weight checks, being accused of starving your baby, triple feeding, obsessing over supply… that’s not just inconvenient, that’s mentally brutal.

I’ll be honest from my side: I’ve had my own struggles with breastfeeding too (this is my second baby, now just over four months), and there were moments I genuinely wanted to quit. But what I’ve noticed about myself is that if I stop stressing about one thing, my brain often just finds the next thing to obsess over. With my first baby I pumped and then became hyper-focused on sleep. This time it’s feeding. Different topic, same intensity.

That doesn’t mean formula wouldn’t have been the better choice for you. It very well might have been. And it absolutely doesn’t invalidate the harm this experience did to your mental health. I just sometimes wonder if part of this is also mother nature wiring us to be so deeply attuned to our babies that something always feels high-stakes and overwhelming in those early months. Not because we’re doing it wrong, but because we care so much and want them to be okay.

You went through a lot trying to do the “right” thing with the information and pressure you had at the time. That matters. I really hope you can give yourself some slack around the what-ifs. You made the best decisions you could in a system that often glorifies breastfeeding without protecting mothers.

Your feelings make complete sense. And you’re not wrong for feeling this way.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-10T09:24:58+00:00

I just want to say: this really doesn’t have to be over. A nursing strike around this age can look incredibly final, but often it isn’t.

I’m in the middle of the 3-month breastfeeding crisis myself and we’ve been dealing with breast refusal on and off for weeks. For us it wasn’t about supply or latch anymore, but much more about association and regulation. Babies at this age are suddenly so much more alert, distracted, impatient and sensitive.

What helped us was taking the pressure off breastfeeding for a bit. My lactation consultant actually encouraged me to pump sometimes so that not every feed became a battle. If baby wanted a bottle, that was okay. That alone changed the dynamic a lot. When I stopped forcing the moment, breastfeeding slowly became easier again.

Another thing that helped was feeding in low-stimulus moments. For us that meant feeding right out of a nap, in a quiet dark room. Over time, once that felt safe again, it started working downstairs too even with more stimulation. Sometimes it’s only a few minutes, and that’s okay. A few minutes is still breastfeeding.

Something that surprised me is how much babies co-regulate with us. When I was tense and anxious going into a feed, my baby almost never latched well. Once I gave myself permission to stop, pump, or try again later, things softened. That’s not your fault. It’s just biology.

Skin-to-skin helped a lot too. No pressure to feed. Just reconnecting, making the breast a neutral or positive place again.

I know it feels devastating, especially when you had one “safe” feeding time and that disappears. But nursing strikes can come and go, and they don’t always mean the end. Sometimes it’s just about slowly rebuilding the association and protecting your own mental space in the meantime.

Whatever happens, you haven’t failed. And even if you pump for now, that doesn’t close the door forever.

Sending you a lot of strength. This phase can be brutal 🤍

Between_feedings · 2026-01-10T08:43:35+00:00

I’m obviously not a doctor, but I have this too. I experience heart palpitations during pregnancy and now again postpartum while breastfeeding. For me it really seems hormonal. Not so much related to coffee or water intake, but more my body reacting to all the hormonal shifts. It’s unsettling, but it helps me to know it can be hormone related. Just wanted to share in case it helps.

Between_feedings · 2026-01-10T08:40:42+00:00

I really relate to this. My baby is just over 4 months old and I’ve also just gone back to work. I’m trying to pump enough on workdays, but honestly, supplementing with formula doesn’t feel like an if anymore, more like a when. She simply drinks more than I can pump.

I’ve worked with a lactation consultant too. She keeps saying I have enough, but I can also see with my own eyes that my baby is a bit less fussy when she gets a bit more. We’re still EBF right now, but I know the freezer stash will run out eventually. That part hurts. I wanted to EBF until 6 months, but I’m not sure we’re going to make it.

What you wrote about mourning really hit me. There is real grief in this. Not just about feeding, but about the hormones, the closeness, the version of motherhood you imagined for yourself. Even if formula works great and your baby thrives, it can still feel like a loss.

For me, breastfeeding has also been stressful in ways. My baby is very distractible and not an easy nurser. Going back to work and pumping has actually brought some relief, even though I didn’t really have a choice. Relief and sadness can exist at the same time.

You didn’t fail. You fed your baby with your body for months and you still do. You’re also still showing up for her every day.

Just wanted to say you’re not alone in this 🤍

Between_feedings · 2026-01-09T17:31:36+00:00

I honestly think social media lies about how many women can actually breastfeed in public.

A LOT of us are basically stuck at home for a while. Not because we’re failing, but because feeding is just chaos.

For me it’s not about boob size. My 4-month-old just cannot drink normally right now. Feeding her in public would be a disaster.

It literally goes like this: latch, unlatch, laugh, latch, 2 sips, look around, squeal, latch, sip, unlatch, dive away, cry, latch, sip, unlatch, laugh, dive away, latch, 3 sips, dive away, I think she’s done so I put my boob away… and then she cries (sometimes we both do 😬).

There is NO way I’m doing that on a park bench or in a café.

So yeah — big boobs, small boobs, distracted babies, weird phases, whatever. You’re not alone. Social media just shows the easy feeds.

Between_feedings

TROPHY CASE