Tag: pregnancy

No one can do it like you.

No one can raise your child like you can, quite literally, because no one is you.  And yet, you know what?  It will be okay.

This is something that I have to constantly remind myself of, as recently as this morning. 

You see, our daughter turned 6 months old over the weekend (I can hardly believe it), so we decided it was time for our Au Pair to begin giving her food during the day. 

As a disclaimer before anyone jumps in with advice about introducing a baby to solid food– we started giving her a tiny bit of food about 6 weeks ago—just for fun, and for exposure to potential allergens (like peanut butter, eggs, soy, etc.).  As I may have mentioned in prior posts, my wife is a pediatrician—so we know how to do it safely, and understand that it’s not for nutrition (nutrition is what my seemingly endless hours of pumping at the office and at home are for—that liquid gold!)

Anyway…

Last night we “trained” our Au Pair on how to give our sweet baby food, what spoon she prefers, where the bibs are, how to ensure at least some of it gets into her mouth (as opposed to being on her face, the floor, her hands, etc.) and what foods we know she likes thus far.  Our Au Pair smiled and nodded, and confirmed that she understood what to do.  It’s not rocket science, so I told my type-A worried mind to relax, and that her endeavors to feed our baby some food today would probably go swimmingly.

Wrong. 

First, I got a text message asking which bib to use—to which I replied that it really didn’t matter.  They were all washable anyway.  Then, I got another message with a picture, showing our baby girl eating with the wrong spoon—it wasn’t her favorite spoon, and wasn’t even a baby spoon.  It was a standard soup spoon.  Finally, after the meal was completed, I got a message that our sweet baby girl wouldn’t take any of her bottle, which is what pushed me over the edge (in my mind, not outwardly).  Outwardly, I responded with a polite text simply saying “next time, please ensure she gets her bottle first, before you try any food.”  My inward thoughts, however, were not so calm.  I immediately launched into “Of course she wouldn’t take any bottle!  You filled her up with tons of prunes and spinach first, so there isn’t any room left in her teeny tiny stomach!  This isn’t rocket science!  And clearly you weren’t listening to the instructions last night, which included a specific disclaimer that milk always needed to take priority, and she should have a bottle before her food; not after!” 

Rage was happening in my mind, and I soon spiraled into other thoughts of guilt:  No one can do it like I can do it.  I should be at home feeding her and not working/having a career.  Maybe we should just feed her at dinner, and not have our Au Pair ever try to feed her.  Even with being spoon-fed the instructions (pun intended), our Au Pair still managed to mess it up.  Now our baby girl (who isn’t great about taking her bottles to begin with) was essentially behind an entire 4-5 ounces of milk for the day.  She might get dehydrated.  She might get constipated.  I wonder if I can sneak in another bottle at some point this evening to make up for the missed bottle.  Etc. etc.

And then I paused on one of those thoughts; specifically, the “no one can do it like I can do it” thought, because it’s something that was extremely hard for me when going back to work and leaving our baby in the care of someone other than me (or my wife), and it’s something I still struggle with.  Some people call it “mom-guilt” or some variant thereof—I call it being a control freak.  (Hey, at least I have insight into myself.)

I slowed down and tried to remember that “no one can do it like me… literally… because no one is me!”  Even my wife and I probably have slightly different methods for feeding our daughter.  And you know what?  Her methods work just fine, too.  Just as our Au Pair’s methods will likely work fine with a little fine-tuning.  I needed to provide the feedback about giving the bottle first, before food, and maybe tell her to use a baby-appropriate spoon next time, but the rest I needed to let go.  Because our Au Pair is not me, and doesn’t do things like I would do them, and that’s okay.  In letting these small things go, I’m teaching my daughter that others can care for her.  And that it’s oaky to be flexible, and not do everything the exact same way every single time.  Life isn’t perfect and doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.  She can still have her needs met, even when I’m not there (or my wife isn’t there), which I firmly believe to be a crucial lesson.  And, while I may think that I have everything to offer, I know that isn’t true—there are so many things our Au Pair can offer on a daily basis that I can’t.  Like speaking Spanish.  Exposing our sweet baby to a different culture.  Different music.  Adorable Pinterest crafts that I wish I had time for, but just don’t.  She’s learning things that I can’t teach her, and being exposed to wonderful enriching things, which is a gift that outweighs the small critique of using the wrong spoon and being behind on 4-5 ounces of milk for one isolated day.  It’s all okay; and, in all likelihood, I will get home tonight to find what I always find: a happy baby, anxious to see me, who is safe, healthy, and has had nothing but love and attention all day… and hopefully more milk. 😉

So, to all the other Mama’s out there thinking “no one can do this like I can!” You’re not alone.  And you’re right.  And yet, it will be okay.

How to not “forget” your other children during the “forgotten” trimester.

One of the hardest things, that I did not correctly anticipate, was how hard it would be to spend time with my older children once we welcomed our new baby girl.  While I relished snuggling a sleeping newborn, and I couldn’t quite seem to get enough of that newborn-baby-smell (it was more powerful than even the strongest pain meds for me!), I was also hurting inside—and I’m not just talking about the physical recovery after a c-section.

Why was I hurting?

Because I missed my older kids!  There is so much pressure on a new mom to bond with her baby, to breastfeed on command (if you’re a nursing mom), to cluster-feed 24-7, and to otherwise comfort and be with your new baby.  And while all of these things are precious, and the newborn phase is fleeting in the grand scheme of life, it doesn’t mean that your other kids can just be “put on hold.”

I could see how excited our 4 year old son and 2 year old daughter were to have a new sister, but I could also see that they couldn’t quite understand why I wasn’t around anymore.  To them, I’m sure it felt like they had been replaced.  Whenever the baby was sleeping, I needed to sleep (or pump, or shower, or do one of a million other things that I couldn’t do while holding a baby).  And whenever she was awake, I needed to have skin-to-skin time, or breastfeed her.  We all lived in the same house, and yet for the first couple of weeks, I felt like I rarely saw my two “big kids.”

Don’t get me wrong– we tried the best we could to make sure they still had time with me, and that I still had time with them.  My wife helped out as much as she possibly could, both with our older children and with the baby.  It still didn’t feel like enough.  I felt like my older kids were being “forgotten” in the forgotten trimester.

How did we fix the issue?  Honestly, the most helpful “fix” was just the passage of time.  Now that our sweet baby girl is 5 months old, I can look back on those first few weeks and reflect that there’s not much I could have done differently, or would have wanted to do differently.  Our newborn needed me.  Period.  I showed my other kids as much love and attention as I possibly could for that phase of life.  And now that we are through that phase and into the next, and now that our sweet baby girl is sleeping through the night, taking predictable naps, and having greater lengths of “awake” time, it’s easier to budget time so that everyone feels like they’re getting their “mama time.”  When our baby girl is napping, I make a concerted effort to just play with the older kids (as opposed to using the time to work, cook dinner, do the laundry, etc.) 

I also try, once per week, to pick up either my son or my older daughter from school just 30 minutes early, and walk home.  It’s amazing how much they’ll tell you, and how valued they feel, from something as simple as holding your hand and getting 30 minutes of undivided attention.  Sometimes we stop off for ice cream on our walk home—or pass by their favorite park and play for a while.  Whatever it takes—because no one should be “forgotten” in the forgotten trimester—particularly children.

While not everyone can have all of your time, you can make time for everyone.

Self-care.

After the two weeks that I’ve just had, it’s time to take a pause and discuss “self-care.” 

I know what you may be thinking—it’s a very in-vogue term that is actually unattainable (or maybe that’s just me.)  It’s kind of like the term “work-life balance.”  It’s the parenting goal a la mode.  It’s something that everyone wants, and struggles to achieve, yet it means something completely different to everyone—and everyone who is striving for it perpetually feels like they’re not quite “there yet,” or are “still working on it.” 

So, what is self-care?  Is it making sure that you’re eating right?  Exercising enough?  (Or in my case, exercising at all?)  Drinking enough water?  Getting that manicure/pedicure that you’re desperately wanting?  Getting your hair cut and highlighted?

Or is it taking 5 minutes in the morning to make that Nespresso latte that you crave?  Or taking an extra 15 minutes at night, when the whole house is asleep, to read a few chapters of that book that you enjoy but seem to never be able to finish?  Or taking a 10 minute walk around the block when you’re at work for no reason other than getting some fresh air?  Or maybe it’s writing a blog post, to vent some of your thoughts/feelings/emotions that are taking up so much space in your mind that you need to clear them out to make room for new thoughts/ideas…

Whatever it is, self-care is necessary, and attainable; albeit not necessarily in the “perfect” way envisioned (but, channeling the message of my last blog post—I’m striving for progress, here; not perfection). 

Let’s take it back a step and examine my last two weeks in a nutshell:

“Hellish” would be barely scraping the surface of how the last two weeks felt.  We had some landscaping done at our home, which required coordinating on my part, our son started speech therapy, which threw off our morning routine, the kids were transitioning from their “summer” school schedule to their “fall” school schedule (differences in meal times at school, and differences in required wardrobe for the day, and supplies, etc.), our sweet baby girl started working on her solid foods (homemade pureed butternut squash for the win!), I jumped back in to teaching a legal writing class one night per week, we had a bout of either food poisoning or a stomach bug at our house, our Au Pair informed us that she would be leaving later this year (prompting a search for a new Au Pair, pronto!), my wife’s medical institution went through the reaccreditation process (a splendid treat that thankfully occurs only once every 10 years, that requires many early mornings), I was on trial for a divorce case involving millions of dollars that required a little weekend work, and I hate to give up my weekend time, (have I mentioned I’m a divorce attorney?), I had my semi-annual partner review at work, our kids started their fall gymnastics classes and fall Sunday School classes at church, we took our annual family photos which required everyone to be up early and looking their best on a Sunday morning, and then there was all of the “normal” stuff like Amazon returns, routine dentist appointments for the adults and kids, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and still trying to fit in family time.  My wife and I were like ships passing in the night.  Every day my brain felt achy from the amount of logistical gymnastics performed throughout the day, making sure that everyone in our house made it to where they needed to go, and accomplished what they needed to accomplish.

And then there was the unexpected—I’ll skip the details, but I had some symptoms suggesting that I should really see a gastroenterologist, thanks to a strong history of colon cancer on both sides of my family.  My response when my wife told me to go see a specialist was literally, “I don’t have time.”  Accurate?  Yes.  Acceptable?  No.

And that’s when it hit me: sometimes self-care is literal.  It’s not about being able to get the manicure you want—it’s about taking care of your physical health! 

So often as mothers we prioritize everyone and everything else above ourselves.  We prioritize our kids (for good reason), and our spouses (also usually for good reason).  We also prioritize our friends, family, bosses, jobs, commitments, schedules, and never-ending to-do-lists; yet so often we fail to prioritize our own most basic needs—the need for health care, for example.

Why is this?  Is it cultural?  Or does it have to do with personality type?  For example, if you’re type-A like me, does that make you more prone to wanting to be superwoman and wanting to “do it all?”  Or is it situational?  Maybe there are times in life when self-care is just not a viable part of the weekly plan? 

I think the answer, like so many things in life, lies somewhere in between all of simple clear-cut possibilities.  Sure, being a type-A personality doesn’t make self-care easier, but it’s circumstantial and a part of our culture.  Americans tend to strive to be self-supporting, not dependent upon anyone else, make the most out of everything, and want the best for everyone in their lives.  In other cultures, they’re more open to accepting help (the topic for an entirely separate blog post at some future time) and do a better job enjoying the moment.  Maybe “self-care,” and “work-life-balance” and other similar terms are so in-vogue right now for a really simple reason: because we, as a culture, used to naturally work things into our lives that took care of our basic self-care needs (for example- women in the 1950’s taking hours every week to get their hair permed; men in the 1950’s coming home and having a cocktail while relaxing before dinner), and in our “go-go-go” and “must-do-more” society, we forget or otherwise don’t make time for these simple moments of self-care.

While I don’t have all the answers as to why “self-care” is such a struggle for some of us, my challenge to all of us today (mostly myself), particularly in this forgotten trimester, is to make time for self-care at least once per week—ideally every day—even if only for 10 minutes.  Whether it’s a long walk to clear your mind, sitting down to write a blog post, having a cocktail before dinner, taking that exercise class you’ve been thinking about, reading a few pages of a good book, or (in the busier weeks) something as simple as prioritizing getting yourself seen by a doctor, let’s all get out there and do some “self-care.”  Define self-care however you need to today or this week, depending on your circumstances and daily logistical gymnastics game; but just get out there and do it!  We will all thank ourselves for it, and we’ll all be better mothers/spouses/employees/friends, etc. because as someone wise once told me, “you can’t give that which you do not possess.”  In other words—you can’t care for others if you can’t care for yourself.

Post-Partum? Or Post-Party? (Damn you, auto-correct.)

In the weeks immediately following the birth of our precious daughter in April, 2019, I got lots of emails.  I mean tons.  Hundreds.  And the fact that I had on an “OOO” (Out-of-office) auto-reply didn’t seem to do me much good (likely my own fault, because I didn’t want to mention “maternity leave” and instead opted to simply state that I was on “a prolonged leave”, out of my own insecurity that potential clients might see those words and run away—a thought that now, in hindsight, seems both baseless and irrelevant.  After all, if someone isn’t okay with me having children and a life beyond the office, then it probably isn’t a good attorney-client match!) 

So, when a potential new client would contact me, and receive my extremely vague out-of-office reply, they would naturally follow-up to ask whether I was okay, and when I might be back.  This inevitably led to me explaining that I was “post-partum,” which in my mind was less stigmatizing than just saying that I was on “maternity leave.”  The problem?  Responding to emails through my iPhone led to the age-old problem of autocorrect.  And, as I learned the hard way, auto-correct plus sleepless nights plus responding to emails while distracted by a new baby can lead to some pretty hilarious mix-ups…

The biggest mix-up, by far, is when I would explain to people via email that I was out because I was “post-partum.”  Auto-correct instantly decided that “post-party” must have been what I meant, and it would change it Every.  Single.  Time.  Being somewhat technologically challenged, I couldn’t figure out how to make it stop!  And being sleep deprived, I didn’t catch the error the first few times it happened, leading to potential clients getting an email from me that read something like this:

“Dear (John):

Thanks for reaching out.  I’m out of the office because I’m actually post-party right now (hence the strange hour of the day you might be receiving this email), and I plan on being out for another several weeks recovering.  I’d be happy to have a phone call, however, and meet you in person when I’m no longer post-party.”

Stupid?  Yes.  Embarrassing?  Double-yes.  Avoidable?  Triple yes.  If I had just gotten over my fear of what stigma may or may not be associated with taking time away to birth a human and heal my body, it never would have happened.  I should have just been honest and straightforward, and said that I was on maternity leave (and deep in the throes of the forgotten trimester).

Although stupid and avoidable, was it also funny?  Yes.  It lightened my own mood when I realized the mistake.  And it actually led to some light-hearted conversations with people who found the typo endearing—which in turn led to some great attorney-client relationships. 

And, lastly, was it also ironic?  YES.  Oh-so-ironic. Because no matter how you give birth, I think we can all agree it is the opposite of a “party.”  And, I would hardly call the “post-partum” period of life a “post-party,” unless referring to the feelings of exhaustion, body soreness, and need for hydration and pain killers—in which case “post-partum” and “post-party” might actually be, on balance, identical.

Keep on post-partying, my fellow forgotten trimester tribe.  Try to find the humor in the little things, and always know that you’re not post-partying alone. 

Find your tribe.

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.