The Paper Dart
An ode to creativity and distraction

Life Lately: The Fifth Trimester

Last week, Walter turned 3 months old, and we passed the oft-exclaimed about fourth-trimester milestone. And, honestly, I have some mixed feelings about it. I enjoy this phase of babyhood so much more than the earliest months—Walter is smiling, giggling, and can finally hold his enormous head up (most of the time). But I also feel like the three month mark signals some things about where I should be, that don’t really line up with where I actually am.

Mental Health

Let’s start with my mental health. Having three kids, four and under is wonderful, but it’s also exhausting, and incredibly emotionally draining. Someone gets injured, has a meltdown, starts a fight, and poops his/her pants every single day. Neither of my older children nap on a regular basis (and no, I don’t need advice on how to get them to), so I have approximately 0 moments to myself between the hours of 6:30am and 8pm. 

Some days, I’m mentally prepared for it. I have enough patience and energy to navigate the highs and lows, and truly enjoy spending the day with my kids. Some days I even catch myself wondering how I got so lucky—to have this family, and to get to stay home with them. But then there are other days when it’s really hard. Days when I’m sick, or when the baby was up all night, or when I just really wish I could go to the grocery store alone.

Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile these two feelings—my absolute adoration of my kids, and the constant underlying desire to be away from them, at least for a little bit. A lot of days I feel overwhelmed by it, or guilty because of it, and while I know that the emotional highs and lows are probably very normal, the stories I’ve been told about motherhood (from other women, the media, etc.) don’t always make me feel that way.

I also have begun to experience a resurgence of some of the complicated feelings I first felt after deciding to take some time off of work, and embrace the title of stay-at-home-mom. While, in many ways, having “one” job is so much easier than having two, I really miss the adult interaction, mental stimulation, and external validation I got at work. 

And that, in itself, has gotten me thinking about why it is I crave external validation in the first place. Motherhood, like most things in life, is not a thing one should do and expect to be thanked, or rewarded for. I wonder, sometimes, if my feeling that I do need, or deserve those things means I have some personal work to do, in terms seeing myself as “worthy,” outside of my roles (as a mother, or otherwise).

My Postpartum Body

Long story short, I have lost almost none of my baby weight. That’s right, 0%. Immediately after giving birth, I lost about 15 pounds, which consisted of 9 pounds of baby, a few pounds of placenta, and a bunch of fluids… And while my body has definitely changed (I’m less puffy,  and the good old uterus has shrunk back down to size), the number on the scale has stayed the same. 

More interesting than my weight itself, is the fact that I’ve noticed a pattern in the ways in which I respond it from day to day. On good days, I literally could not care less. I have elastic waist shorts for goodness sake! What more could a girl need?! 

But on the days that are a little more chaotic (or a lot more chaotic), I suddenly start beating myself up about it. And I’ve realized that my wonderings, on those days, about when I’ll have time to exercise again, or eat something other than my daughter’s grilled cheese crust for lunch, are really just my anxious brain’s reaction to my lack of control in general, projected onto my weight (and all of the factors that go into that) in particular. 

So the answer, I guess, is that I need to get better at releasing control, especially during this phase of life. I need to remember that, even though the timeline is fuzzy, it will get easier, and I will, eventually, have time to take care of myself again. And I especially need to remember that I can celebrate Mom A for making organic salads for lunch every day, as well as Mom B for returning to spin class when her baby was 5 weeks old, without feeling bad about the fact that I did not. 

On a more positive note, I have found a lot of solace recently on both Instagram (yes, Instagram), and through the Stroller Strides class I very sporadically attend. On Instagram, I follow a lot of postpartum women, as well as influencers of all shapes and sizes. A lot of these women have helped me look at the process of clothing my postpartum body in a different light (clothes can be joyful guys!), and have helped me get into the habit of celebrating my body, instead of constantly criticizing it. And at Stroller Strides, I have the blessing of getting to work out exclusively with other new moms. New moms who are in yoga pants, and sports bras, and all types of bodies. Going to class always reminds me just how little I care about the shape and size of other women’s bodies, as well as just how little they (or anyone who matters) probably care about mine. 

Self-Care

Lastly, and to be totally honest, some days I feel trapped in my own home. In the mom group I attend every Tuesday, we talk about “doing something for ourselves” every week. And while that’s good advice, it also feels impossible. 

I know I could make it work—that I could take an hour to get my nails done on a Saturday—but sometimes the mere prospect of everything that would have to happen in order to prepare the family for my leaving is enough to make me change my mind.

And I am fully aware that this one is on me. That I’m making excuses, partially because I’m tired, and partially because I have trouble releasing control. But if there’s anything I should probably start working on now, before my kids are old enough to feel the pressure of it, it’s letting go. 

So…

In sum, my first week in the “fifth trimester” doesn’t really feel any different than the fourth. And that’s OK—mostly because it has to be, but also because the timelines we put on ourselves to feel “normal” or “free” again never really made a lot of sense in the first place. 

At the end of the day, what I value more than my free time, my old body, or my one-time ability to journal and do yoga every day, are my kids, and my husband, and maybe even the dogs. And while some people are able to take care of all of those things and also do a bunch of stuff for themselves, a lot of other people aren’t, and I’ve decided that it’s OK (and probably very normal) for me to feel a little bit envious of those on the other side, as long as that envy is unaccompanied by shame or self-doubt. 

So, while I don’t have too many tangible goals for the weeks to come (besides, hopefully, getting a little bit more sleep), I do plan on putting on my elastic-waist, big-girl pants and refusing to feel bad about the messiness that is my real life right now. And I hope that if you happen to be in a similar phase of life as well, you’re able to do the same. 

Postpartum Self-Criticism and The Blame Game

The postpartum period, for me at least, is often fraught with self-criticism. If the baby doesn’t sleep, or the big kids eat mac and cheese three days in a row, or I forget to feed the dog… for a few days… I usually blame myself. And not in the “oops I goofed” kind of way, but more in the “I’m a bad mom” kind of way.

As a former teacher, and regular consumer of parenting content, I know that I would be heartbroken if I heard my children labeling themselves in this way. However, intentionally or not, I not only do it to myself, but sometimes to them as well. While it can be difficult to silence my impulse to explain away some of my kids’ behaviors by telling strangers at the park that “she’s shy,” or “he’s clingy,” I know that if my kids hear these labels, they might also begin to internalize them–much like I have.

One night last week, I was perusing Instagram while nursing my son (as many a new mom is wont to do), when I stumbled across a post by Chazz Lewis (@mrchazz) discussing the difference between shame and guilt. In the post, Lewis talked about how shaming ourselves for our mistakes and shortcomings is counterproductive. For example, when we label ourselves as incapable or hopeless, we are more likely to live up to that standard. On the other hand, he argued that guilt, when experienced in place of shame, is productive, as it allows us to feel uncomfortable in a way that is motivating, instead of limiting. (Brene Brown also talks about this concept in her book Daring Greatly, passages from which are summarized here.)

Over the past three weeks, I have made a conscious effort to notice, and name, when I am unnecessarily “shaming” myself. While this effort hasn’t necessarily stopped me from labeling myself in some pretty counterproductive ways from time to time, it has stopped me from living in these labels. When I’ve had a long, sleepless night and can’t seem to find the energy to smile, I’m not the “sad mom” my inner critic wants me to think I am. When I get short with my son after he rams the swivel chair into a freshly painted wall, I’m not a “mean mom,” or an “angry mom,” I’m just human.

The more I try to be conscious of my tendency to “label” and “shame” myself, the more I’ve noticed myself doing it–in big, and small ways. When I burned the first batch of pancakes at breakfast the other day, I turned to the kids and told them they’d have to wait, because I was “so forgetful.” My daughter laughed and said “yeah, you are,” which, weirdly enough, surprised me. Because you know what? I’m not that forgetful. Do I forget appointments and burn pancakes every once in a while? For sure. But I also retain an incredible amount of other information. For example, I remember what time my newborn son last ate, exactly how many hours of sleep he got last night, and which boob he last nursed from. I remember all 70 items I need to order from the grocery store, as well as the 15 I need to pick up from Target. Every time we wash hands, I remember to ask my son if he wants to turn the faucet on before I do it myself, and exactly how wide to open my daughter’s closet door at night.

When my daughter agreed that I was forgetful, she hadn’t come to that conclusion herself. In fact, if I had asked her cold, she probably would have thought I do a great job remembering things. But I had called myself something, and she, being a literal four-year-old, assumed it to be true.

This differentiation between guilt and shame, and my newfound mission to identify where and when I’m allowing myself to sit in each, has been instrumental in allowing me to learn from, instead of being broken by, the mistakes that I will inevitably continue to make (especially during this exhaustion-fueled phase of early motherhood). My dearest hope is that, as my children grow, they’re able to accept all of the parts of themselves (the good, and the bad), as just that: parts. While I know that the world will try to label them, or tell them they “are” a certain type of way, I hope to give them the skills to know better. And before I can do that for them, I have to make sure I do it for myself as well.

Where to next?