Pregnancy. A phase of life generally divided into three neat and tidy trimesters, each consisting of approximately 13 weeks. During the first, most women experience morning sickness (though for a lucky few like myself, the sickness is all-day, every-day). During the second, most women rave about their energy returning, and the baby preparations kick into high gear. And during the third and final, most women enjoy the baby kicks, while at the same time visiting the bathroom several times per day (or in some cases, per hour), sleeping moderately comfortably at best, and counting down the days until baby’s arrival. And then… boom. There is a new baby, and the world rejoices.
But what happens next? What happens AFTER the new bundle of joy rocks the world of the parents? What do we call this time of extreme highs and lows, of contentedness and anxiety? The fourth trimester. Or in American society particularly, the “forgotten trimester.” The “trimester” that is actually the longest, and the hardest, during which some American women receive the least amount of support.
In thinking about my own experience, when our son arrived 4 years ago, his entry into the world was magical. After a pregnancy fraught with hyperemesis, a protracted 20+ hour labor, ending with a semi-emergent caesarian section, the only thing that mattered was that he was finally here—healthy, screaming, kicking, and rocking our world. What followed for me was a week of difficult recovery, followed by a maternity leave where I constantly felt unsure of myself in this new role of “motherhood,” trying to console a colicky baby. All of the doctors that had followed me closely during pregnancy were gone. No one was asking me “how are you feeling?” every hour of every day. I was no longer going to work, to social outings, etc. Instead, we lived in a 1 bedroom apartment at the time. While it had beautiful pre-war charm, it was tiny. Our son actually lived in a converted walk-in closet (before anyone calls DCFS, rest assured that it was beautiful—it fit a micro-crib, a set of drawers, and even had a painting on the wall). My wife, my rock and support, was in residency at the time and was working literally 100+ hours per week. Many of her “working hours” were actually night shifts, meaning that I was on my own during the night, and during the day she desperately needed sleep, so I was tasked with keeping our colicky son relatively quiet in the very small space of our apartment. There were days where the only “person” I talked to was our son, a teeny tiny human who couldn’t respond, and for a while, couldn’t even give me a smile to encourage me in the dark hours (literally and figuratively). While I loved him immensely, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit bad for myself. Thoughts of “maybe this would be easier if we lived in a house with more than 1 bedroom,” and “maybe this would be easier if my wife didn’t work night shifts” often crept into my mind. I felt isolated because despite living in Chicago, one of the biggest cities in the nation, I rarely left the apartment for fear of our son erupting in public, and me not being able to console him. We got through my maternity leave, but it was a struggle. Looking back, I do have fond memories of the bonding time we had—watching Gilmore Girls and The Ellen Show while he slept in my arms (because if I dared put him down, he’d cry immediately!) but I also wondered if there were things I could have done, or things I could have let others do, that would have helped me thrive during my maternity leave instead of just survive.
Fast forward 4 years later, as we welcomed our youngest—a new baby girl. This time would be different, I told myself. For starters, my wife was no longer in residency and was working a “normal” job, so I wouldn’t be alone during the seemingly endless nights. And, we had also moved. No more 1 bedroom apartment! Instead, we were out in the suburbs, with a lovely house wherein everyone had their own room (and no one slept in a closet), a backyard, a porch with a swing on it, etc.
But was my maternity leave really that different? Yes and no. Yes, the extra space in our house proved to be helpful, and having my wife be more available and not working night shifts was amazing. I got out of the house more. I tried harder to maintain social contacts and establish “routines,” even if they were simple things like making myself a decaf Nespresso latte and then taking the baby for a long morning stroll. And, this time we were blessed with a very easy-going, happy baby in comparison to our first two. (Seriously, on the Richter scale, with 1 being a small tremor that was noticeable, but didn’t really disrupt your life, and 10 being a major earthquake that leveled buildings, created maximum destruction, and seriously impacted the ability to carry on with life, our first was about a 7, and our second was a sold 10. This baby girl was/remains approximately a level 1.) At the same time, some of those same struggles from my first maternity leave resurfaced—feelings of isolation, not being confident that I was doing “the mothering thing” the correct way (spoiler alert- after 3 babies we’ve learned that essentially they’re all different, what works for one will undoubtedly not work for the next, and sometimes you just have to take a stab in the dark until you figure it out), and wondering when the “mom-guilt” would ease up. I constantly felt like I wasn’t doing enough for anyone—for myself, my wife, my two “big kids,” my baby, my friends; you name it, I felt like I was failing.
So what is the fourth trimester? It’s the forgotten trimester—the weeks/months following a birth when all moms, whether first-time moms or seasoned veterans, need a little extra help. A little extra love and support. It’s hard. Contrary to what one of my colleagues said to me before I left for maternity leave, it’s not “a vacation.” (To which my response was a simple eye-roll.)
I firmly believe that all moms struggle, at least a little, on maternity leave— but as moms, so many of us try to keep our superhero capes on and not let anyone know we’re struggling. Our lives might look picture-perfect for Facebook and Instagram, but there’s always more to it. The logical side of my brain says that there has to be a better way. There just has to be more we can do to help moms during this time. And, there has to be more that we can do to help ourselves! So now I’ve made it my Mount Everest—it’s time to figure out how to better conquer the forgotten trimester.
~The Forgotten Trimester~ 