the fourth trimester

The fourth trimester? But TRImester. As in three. What do you mean there's a fourth? The baby is born! All is well. Mostly. The fourth trimester is a very sweet time full of precious moments and maybe I'm alone but for me, it's also difficult and it can hit you where it hurts and it can hit you when you're down because babies come with a whole (cute!) luggage set full of needs. Some might affectionately refer to this time as, "the babymoon" but I'd like to put my vote in for a name change to, "crazymoon" because every day is different and completely unpredictable.

I didn't quite subscribe to the idea of the fourth trimester when Julia was a newborn because look at me! I can walk around the kitchen and nurse Julia with one hand while I make my coffee and nothing is really that different. I knew my clothes wouldn't immediately fit after she was born so that was no surprise and it turns out that med school is a lot more generous with paternity leave than residency is so Simon was around to help with our one baby for a couple of weeks. Fourth trimester? HA. Maybe for you but I've got this, thanks!

But then Simon went back to school and the help slowly dissipated (as it should, natural progression and normal way of life and all of that) and I was left to care for an infant all by myself like millions of women have done before my time. And it was a lot harder than I had anticipated. I figured out a way to nurse and type on the laptop at the same time and sent frantic emails to my friends with more than one kid and wondered, "how does one go about taking care of MORE THAN ONE?!" because it was rough.

After several weeks I still couldn't get my jeans up past my knees (something I've learned is a curse of girl pregnancies for me - the boys' gestational periods were a lot less fluffy, to put it mildly) but I was getting really sick of wearing the same stretchy black dress that was actually a maternity swimsuit coverup and it was a good thing I never went anywhere that required me to look relatively presentable because the child never ever let me shower.

Ah ha! The fourth trimester reared her pretty little head and let me get a good look at her tangible laughing face because she was real. And I was living with her.

As soon as I faced the blaring music and admitted that life simply was not the same with a baby in tow ... things got easier. I was less frustrated when it took me six tries over the course of two days just to run to Target to get more wipes and a brief second of socialization a la conversation with the cashier about the whereabouts of my receipt (yep, the bag is fine). I stopped obsessing about getting back into my pants and became a loyal friend to Jillian Michaels (on mute) and eventually tossed my black coverup into storage. And then before I knew it, the fourth trimester came to a blessed close and was happily replaced with a permanently slower pace of life.

The same thing happened after Sebastian was born but this time I was relatively prepared. Sort of. The baby duties doubled and I caught a long and nasty case of cabin fever that simply would not break for several months but I kept the expectations incredibly low for myself and for the kids because I knew it was temporary.

And then Theo. Again, I knew the crazy was coming and I welcomed it with open arms as we settled back into, "lots of frozen pizzas, lots of Netflix, and repeat!" mode. Things got easier earlier on as I learned what worked and what didn't.

So ... now we're almost seven weeks into life with four kids.

my denim is unbuttoned and the zipper is getting a workout that would make Crossfitters cry, but hey! all the kids are smiling.

And I've still got some time before my fourth trimester is over. So I'm taking it REALLY easy. Sebastian wants popcorn for breakfast? DONE. The kids are wearing comfy clothes and I'm exhausted and craving silence on the couch no, not in 7 minutes but right NOW? To bed they go, clothes and dirty faces and all! All the time. There are eight loads of laundry in the dryer because I just keep washing, and drying, and not folding but Phoebe wants to be held when she sleeps and I know that this sweet little phase is fleeting so the laundry settles in for another evening of stagnant living in the basement.

Eventually a new normal will emerge amidst the crying and the Phoebe fawning and the chaos. But in the mean time I'll keep rocking my updated version of the black coverup (this one buttons! I'm so fancy) all day and all night and pretending like I've got this gig figured out.

because I totally do.

;)