The End of the Fourth Trimester

Friday, 25 October 2019 Bath, UK

Nova's Top: Tesco F&F | Nova's Leggings: Next | My Jumper: H&M | My Skirt: New Look | My Watch: Olivia Burton

I am two jeans sizes bigger. My hair has a little grey patch at the front. I now sport a rather fetching
scar on my pubic bone.

A lot more than that has changed. But my body, my amazing, intelligent, miracle body grew a baby.

A real life person.

And now I’m somebody's mum. 

An actual mum. To an actual baby. What?

Yes yes, I promise the fourth trimester is a real thing. According to a quick google search the
fourth trimester is the time that your baby gets used to the outside world. The noise, the lights,
the smells, the sounds and sensations away from the comfort of your warm, dark, cosy and
quiet womb. The fourth trimester is a time where your baby learns how to breathe air and how
to smile, how to look around, how to drink milk. It’s where they finally get to see your face and
connect it to the voice they know so well. 

In all honesty, the first three months have been a blur. Not only a beautiful blur of milk stained
pyjamas, getting to know my baby, and constant cuddles, but congratulations cards and visits
from family and friends I’ve not seen in yonks and people asking if they can make us a lasagne.
(The answer is always yes by the way, baby or no baby). But now here we are three months on…
we’ve eaten the lasagnas, taken down the cards, I’ve even packed up some 0-3 month clothes.
And supposedly, it’s time to get back to normal.

But wtf is normal now?

My new normal is spending all afternoon as still as I can because Nova has fallen asleep on my
chest, or lying on the floor pointing at ‘Mr Fox’ on the play mat. My new normal is an overflowing
laundry basket and a mountain of washing up. It’s unhoovered carpets and a never ending to do
list. It’s loneliness from not leaving the house all day, and guilt for not feeling that Nova’s company
is enough. It’s getting to wash my hair once a week - if that. It’s clock watching for the minute Peter
will get home and I don’t have to go it alone. It’s frustration when she cries and an overwhelming joy
when she smiles. It’s self doubt and confusion and mum guilt and low days and high days and bliss
and then doubt again. 

And it’s all worth it. Every tiny second of it. But that doesn’t mean it’s still not hard.

So if you’re a mama to ‘not quite a newborn anymore’, you’re incredible. And you’ve still got this.
You’ve got this if you haven’t showered for a week and you stink of old milk and baby sick. You’ve
got this if you actually had time to put on makeup today. You’ve got this if you’re still in your pyjamas
when it’s time to get back into them. You’ve still got this if you’re back in pre-baby jeans. You’ve still
got this if you couldn’t be further away from that.



Mama, you’re doing great.

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