The Third Tri

Now that our daughter is three, I can see similarities between the first three years and the three trimesters of pregnancy.

In those first few months as a newborn, you experience exhaustion and nausea and wild mood swings. The exhaustion is pretty self-explanatory, except that no one ever mentions that “sleep when the baby sleeps” is a fabulous concept for those lucky few who can afford housekeepers and chefs and personal assistants. Otherwise, you start to resemble a sticky, sweaty, badly neglected baby who may receive enough sleep, but could sorely use a well balanced meal and a long, hot shower. Or even a poorly executed meal and a cold, harsh shower. We’re not terribly picky at this stage.

The nausea, of course, comes from the incredible deluge of bodily functions and fluids you never thought you could or would be comfortable handling, until you have a newborn. Your mantra becomes “I can always wash my hands. And my clothes. And the baby’s clothes. And all of the sheets. And get new carpeting. And paint the walls a nice dark plum that will cover all the stains. And breathe through my mouth.” With every blowout, the trauma lessens a bit and your ability to stomach the next strengthens, until one day you’re handling the full stripper routine like a pro: baby first, then you, then both of you in the tub, then clean clothes for baby and into the crib for a full scrub down of bathroom/bedroom/hallway, etc. for you.

And the mood swings! Who knew that this tiny little package would make you feel such wild dynamics of pure joy and utter terror all within the space of a breath (or the lack of a breath, as you check to make sure baby is breathing for the fiftieth time in an hour). To fall in love so completely is to also surrender to the tightest grips of fear of every tiny danger that could befall your beloved, including that fabulous bumper that you thought you had to have, or that intellectually-stimulating, monochromatic mobile that could fall on her head, or that 50 year old crib that your grandmother keeps insisting you use for your baby.

But then miraculously, you enter that golden second trimester, where baby becomes mobile. And although that brings its own challenges, you start to remember what a regular routine feels like and you start to get more than 3 hours of sleep a night. Diaper changes become far more routine and life is kind of fun, introducing your little one to new places and experiences. Other new parents with infants start to ask YOU for advice and you think, “huh, I think I’ve got the hang of this.”

And then your child gets older and you hit the third trimester, where everything becomes larger and unwieldy and uncomfortable. I’m talking potty-training and temper tantrums here. Because although “baby” is now over two years old, she still wants to be carried everywhere when she is tired or anxious. And let me tell you, 37 pounds of joy is just plain heavy compared to that initial 8 pounds of love. And just when you were coming to terms with diapers and actually appreciating the convenience of being able to go anywhere, for any length of time without fretting, along comes potty-training to throw a wrench in the mix. And your lovely diaper bag that was replaced with a cute, medium-sized bag, now becomes a large, unwieldy backpack as you carry two changes of clothes for your child, one change of clothes for you (because she insists on being carried), and snacks and diversions and other miscellaneous gear.

So here we are, firmly entrenched in the third trimester. She is much more active, much more expressive, but as temperamental as a summers storm. From happy go lucky to full-fledged throw-down mode in the time it takes to utter “no more lollies for you.” Not to mention the discomfort as those same parents seeking advice look around in embarrassment at dinner when it’s your child screaming a the table or it’s you chasing your streaking preschooler around the house with threats of “no books or chocolate milk tonight unless you put on these clothes right now and don’t even think about having a potty-accident while you’re running around naked! and what in the world do you have in your mouth??”

And where will this lead? With hope, to the birth of a well-behaved child as we near her fourth birthday. Although at this point, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be all natural and mommy needs a stiff drink to anesthetize the (growing) pain(s).