A TRIBUTE TO THE 4TH TRIMESTER 

If you’re reading this, thanks already.

Today I put this blanket in a box. 

A box marked “newborn clothing”: squished to the brim with too-tiny-for-her items. 

I tucked it neatly next to spit up cloths and nursing pads, premie sleepers and bonnets that only ever fit for a week- and I closed the lid.

“My baby isn’t a newborn anymore” I find myself thinking. 

Then, I cried. 

It was only 2 years ago that I had no idea what a “Nested Bean” swaddle was, how to wrap my kid into the perfect baby-burrito or how lonely the nights would be wrapping and re-wrapping my newborns into this thing while they cooed, or cried. 

It was only 2 years ago, that I experienced the newborn phase for the first time.

And it was only 3 months ago, that I went through it all again. 

2 years ago I had no idea about MamaRoos or Baby Brezzas or the best breast pumps on the market. 

I had no idea about colostrum collection or sleep safety, Halo Bassinets or Dock-a-tots. 

I had no idea how to install a car seat, pack a diaper bag for hours out the house or how to shimmy a soother from side to side to get her to latch. 

I didn’t know about tounge ties or chapped nipples, padsicles or brewers yeast cookies. 

I didn’t know my hair would fall out, my bum would remain dimply, that my skin would shift when I planked or that sex would require a bit more patience. 

I had no idea about cradle cap or wake windows or developmental leaps. 

I didn’t know the nostalgia I’d feel from the smell of my babies soap or what a real good sleep could do for a Mom’s mental health. 

I also didn’t know all these newborn items and memories would suddenly feel so sentimental when their time for “the box” came.

Two years and two babies and thousands of swaddles and hundreds of sleepless nights and so many spit ups and bum changes and tiny baby hiccups… and oceans of tears for us all.

The newborn box is now filled with memories of the hardest, happiest, joyful and down-right daunting days of my life. 

I should be celebrating, but I find myself crying instead. 

My baby is a toddler

My newborn is an infant,

And my “4th Trimester” items have now found their new home in storage. 

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