The fourth trimester

We feed. We feed. We sleep. We change. We repeat. I know the routine so well by now, I have no need of books and timetables. I knew how it would go, packing so much into her last weeks of gestation, I guess it was no surprise she popped out early. I bristle with guilt every time someone mentions how tiny she is. But then Jonah was the size of a three month old at birth, so it’s actually nice to have a baby who hasn’t quite grown into her baby clothes yet, rather than rushing through them and feeling like it’s all passing too fast.

You can have too much of it though, and it’s only week 3. The routine gets routine quickly, even though it’s successes make you feel confident, smug even, the failures still make you feel like a failure. But then, I knew the bad bits were bad but I’d forgotten how good the good bits were.

How utterly adorable dinky ears are. How amazing are the eyes that slit open in an otherworldly pool of petrol blue- are they going to be brown like Tom’s or blue like mine? It’s too early to tell but it’s fun to guess. How incredibly quickly your body recovers, and how slim you feel after five months with as much water weight as baby, no matter how stretched your tummy may be and how much lower your tits hang having been stretched to capacity and beyond.

And the love. Even at 2.45 am when you’re hoping they’ll push till 3. It’s heartbreaking how it gets you. And it manifests in sneaky ways. Tears at a red-faced crumpled brow and wobbly lip. Fear that you may have harmed her- the dirty orgasm that got labour going too soon (I googled it- it was meant to be fine). A cold sore on my lip after a year’s worth of pain in a week that could kill her with a kiss. The urge to feed her no matter what Gina says when she wahs, and gestures mouthwards; to clean up the third mustard-yellow poop in a row because you don’t want her to be uncomfortable, despite the fact your own head aches from sleep and hormone withdrawal.

So the babymoon is over. Tom is back to work and I’m flying solo, but knowledge is power and there was no way I was going to do so much on my own again. Times have moved on, and even Tom’s masculine work culture has admitted that a day spent working from home may enhance the bottom line more than presenteeism. I’ve been back to college twice, in feats of discipline and organisation that make me feel momentarily together but no less free. There’s no time to chat, or do anything but the bare minimum, but it’s enough of a life outside my breasts and my dressing gown to give the illusion of giving up less than I undoubtedly have.

No matter. It’s worth it. Is it?

My elder children have pulled themselves up to mark, filling in where I am now slacking- Jonah slices bread made by Ava for breakfast. I only clean up the crumbs. Ava makes her own way home from school. I’ve exempted myself from decisions about climbing or pestering about homework; I’ve relaxed about bedtimes and Netflix- often I’m asleep before they are, but they understand, at least right now,

Yet every time someone asks me why I’m out and about with my baby, not lying on the sofa, I bristle- it’s not like I’m not going easier on myself but you don’t have to give in to it either. But I’m trying to be firmer about other things too: holding visits at bay- I really don’t want my Uncle Tony wanting tea while I’m managing my tits during the afternoon’s feeding frenzy. No, it’s not a convenient weekend to call. Yes, I can see you but only between 3.30 and 4 pm because the windows where she’s neither sleeping or feeding is small and I have other shit to do than wait while you hold me up.

After all, the window where I’m given new mother’s grace is also small, so I must take advantage of it now because tiredness only accumulates, and people won’t forgive you for it forever. So today, I’m lying on my sofa. Baby girl is unsettled, routine out the window. My hair is greasy. My lunch, last night’s cold pizza. But I did yoga at morning nap and meditated for 5 minutes so all is not lost. And I know I’ll achieve more later if I rest now. If only the rest of the world knew it.