The end of the fourth trimester

Tomorrow my son turns 12 weeks old – I can’t quite believe it. He’s been with us for such a short amount of time but it also seems like he has always existed.

I’ve loved these first twelve weeks because I’ve been following the school of thought that the first three months are the fourth trimester. A continuation of the baby’s time in the womb where the most important thing is bonding with Jenson and helping his transition into the world to be as gentle and smooth as possible.

To do this, I’ve found myself wearing him in a sling for the majority of our trips out of the house, spending restful hours in the bath with him on my chest, co-sleeping and have focused on what makes him seem happy and content. Lots of walking so he can be rocked to sleep close to me in the sling, lots of singing and dancing around the house and lots of feeding at his pace and at his demand.

This style of parenting wasn’t one that I thought I would take. And, for sure, it’s one that focuses more on Jenson and less on my marriage. Even though my husband sleeps in the same bed as us and is 100% present with us when he’s not at work, I miss the closeness we had pre-becoming parents. I’m sure our relationship will get back to where it was over time but I didn’t expect to have less resources, less patience and less energy to show my love to Gregg.

But let’s get back to talking about the fourth trimester! These thoughts about relationships with a baby are probably for another time and another blog post!

As I sit here writing my thoughts about the fourth trimester you, dear friend, I find myself slightly sad that it is coming to an end. I know that this gentle way of being doesn’t have to end but somehow I feel the permission to take things extra slowly and gently diminish as his 12 week anniversary arrives.

I know that 12 weeks is an arbitrary number and am aware that I can continue doing the same thing over the next few months but somehow it doesn’t feel the same.

Because Jenson is going to change. He’s already coming out of his womb-like haze and is interacting more with the world around him. He’s smiling so much, recognises songs I regularly sing to him and can now be distracted by the world around him or even can be stopped crying with a book or something new that I show him.

He’s not going to need as much of the slow and gentle pace that I’ve grown to love.

And I’m aware that I need to prepare him for my return to work in July when his dad will take over as the main carer. I feel an anxiety about having to push Jenson to do things before he’s ready to fit in with my desire to get back to work and his dad’s desire to spend quality time with him.

Making him sleep out of my arms, feed just for nourishment instead of a way of dozing off, get used to me not being around.

So I’m allowing myself to take a moment to feel sad about him growing up and all that this means. But I also remind myself that I can’t control the future and that the best thing I can do to reduce my anxiety is to be present with my son in the moments I have with him now.

And I think of all the moments to look forward to in the future – where I’ll get to hear him giggling for the first time, witness him playing with toys and interacting even more with the world around him.

He’ll soon be sitting up, tasting his first foods, clapping his hands and chances are that he’ll be less reliant on me when July comes around. And if he is still reliant on me when July comes around, I know that we’ll manage.

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