One of the most crucial lessons I learned when experiencing my forgotten trimester was the importance of finding your tribe. I’m not talking about “Mama Tribe Chicago,” or any one of the hundreds of other Facebook groups dedicated solely to the topic of mothering and all that goes along with it. And I’m also not talking about your “normal” tribe, who are permanent fixtures in your world. I’m talking about the tribe of people, some of whom may only be in your life for a short time, that make you feel more “normal” during your maternity leave and forgotten trimester.
For me, my tribe consisted of Wanda, the crossing guard at the elementary school down the street. Wanda was 66 years old, retired, mother of 3 and grandmother of 8 from New Orleans. She had a sing-song Southern accent and a smile that lit up her whole face. Every morning, when I took our baby girl out for a walk, Wanda was there to ask me how I was doing, and to comment, albeit briefly, on how much our baby girl was changing. She’d say things like “oh, look at how her beautiful eyelashes are filling in,” or “she’s looking bigger!” or “I see she learned how to smile over the weekend!” or “I love that color on her.” She’d also ask me how I was doing, and offer some inspirational quote like “you reap what you sew, and you’re sewing a beautiful garden, honey.”
We would only speak for maybe 15 seconds every morning (after all, it doesn’t take long to cross a street, and we only spoke when I was crossing at her crosswalk), but I found myself intentionally crossing the street at “her” crosswalk each day, not out of necessity (there were about 1,000 different routes I could have chosen), but because she offered me the ability to converse with another adult each and every morning. It made me feel like my life was a bit more normal. She made me feel happy. Returning to work, I don’t see Wanda every morning anymore, but I still try to make the effort, on those rare days when I work-from-home, to take our baby girl past Wanda so that she can see her and comment on our progress in her sweet Southern accent.
My tribe also consisted of Chris, the barista at our local Starbucks. I probably went to Starbucks about twice per week, just to pick up a quick coffee and then continue walking with our baby girl. But it was the same story with Chris—he learned my name, our baby’s name, my “standard order” of a decaf latte with almond milk, and no matter how many people were in line, he would ALWAYS step away for 10 seconds to hold the door for me so that I could roll the stroller through. Even after insisting that I was okay, and that I could manage, and he could get back to his customers, he would simply smile and say, “We all could use more help in this world. The pleasure is mine.” Such true words, Chris. I doubt he knew that he was helping me in more ways than one.
Of course, my wife and children were a huge part of my tribe, and served as obvious and constant reminders of how much I enjoy family time, and how much I am loved. And my friends (particularly other “mom” friends that we met through our kids’ preschool) were wonderful and supportive in their own ways. And my extended family that came to visit and help. But for some reason, it was those smaller interactions, with Chris the barista and Wanda the crossing guard, that helped me achieve more normalcy and routine, and happiness.
Interestingly, some of my longest time friends, including friends of mine from law school, or friends from college, were not a big part of my forgotten trimester “tribe.” Of course they were (and still are!) there for me, but they were more in my periphery vision and not my direct line of sight. And that’s okay! The occasional text messages, requests for updated photos of the baby, etc. were all very nice, but to some extent it began to feel like work to me, rather than pleasure. I think the difference was that the interactions I had with Chris and Wanda were all very light, required zero effort on my part (I didn’t have to respond to a text, or search for the cutest pictures of the baby to forward onward), and the interactions were at my leisure. I chose to make them a part of my routine; but I didn’t feel a sense of obligation. I knew they’d be there.
The lesson learned: you may have a different “tribe” during the forgotten trimester. And while it’s great to maintain your friend and family relationships and keep them in solid condition, it’s also helpful to find those other “tribe members” who may not be a part of your tribe forever, but who help you feel normal, important, and happy. I probably didn’t say it enough, but when I next see Chris and Wanda I’ll be sure to tell them how much they brightened my day, and how grateful I am that they cared.
~The Forgotten Trimester~ 