The kids made New Year’s noisemakers, and I was super excited to countdown and cheer with them at midnight. Once at home, we took a few pictures while we were still in our NYE outfits. Baby girl wore her new purple puma tracksuit because she is a diva.

Just as a mom of babies is never off duty, I started straightening up a bit and walked into the laundry room to throw a dirty onesie onto the growing mound of laundry… and I observed something strange. I wasn’t hearing the usual humming rhythm of the deep freezer. The deep freezer that Hubby purchased on Black Friday. The deep freezer that was safely housing the hundreds of ounces of milk that I’d pumped since October. The deep freezer that was no longer humming because THE POWER STRIP HAD RESET. I opened the freezer lid, and the scene was jarring. The freezer bags were totally thawed. The milk had separated the fatty, creamy hind milk from the foremilk. It was gone. None were salvageable. Some bags had burst open and the bottom of the freezer was lined with the spoiled milk that took blood, sweat and tears to pump out. I was devastated. Devastated. I stood there hovering over what might as well have been a murder scene. It was like I had lost someone very dear to me.

I shouted to Hubby to come see the freezer. He saw the scene and ran to the regular fridge to see if I had any milk stashed there. But there was none. I had moved it all to the deep freezer because sometimes Gadget goes into the regular freezer looking for icees and he leaves the door slightly ajar. I followed the power cord trail to the surge protector and flipped the switch. The power came back to life and the usually hum was heard, but my heart was still frozen. I silently headed into the bedroom and enclosed myself in the closet. It was gone. All that milk that I’d pumped each day for my baby girl to enjoy once I returned to work. Gone in a flash. I finished crying and got myself together, and just like David wept over his child and then got over it, I was over it. There was nothing I could do to bring it back, so the next morning I woke up and started pumping to start from scratch.

The fourth trimester is the time of recovery. It spans the three months after you give birth, and it’s riddled with post-partum symptoms, sleep deprivation, anxiety, and hopefully, bounce back. My fourth trimester ended a few weeks ago with my return to work.

The highlight of the fourth trimester is that you are no longer pregnant. The Caterpillar’s pregnancy was definitely the toughest on me versus my experience with the boys. I don’t know if it’s because I’m six years older than when I had Gadget, or if it was because she is a girl, but I’m glad it’s over. From the round ligament pain and shortness of breath, to all my other random symptoms, I gladly said goodbye and good riddance to being an incubation host for nine months. However, with the Fourth Trimester came a host of new dilemmas and challenges.

The Sleep
My Caterpillar was 8lbs 3.5oz at her two week appointment, so she had gained back her birth weight and was growing up quite nicely on her exclusive breastmilk diet. Someone once told me that the higher her birth weight, the longer she’ll sleep at night. Ha! The first night home was a little crazy even though she’d only lost a few ounces in the hospital. We were exhausted. Of course, she slept all day, and then during the witching hour she started her “grunts.” At the time, I had not properly identified the meaning of each sound, but now I’m savvy enough to distinguish between feed me, burp me, I’m cold, I’m sleepy, hold me, comfort me, or I have gas. Although, it took a good seven weeks before successfully learning how to decipher this chick’s code. Now, those days are behind me, and I’m grateful every minute she’s awake when the sun’s up, because that means more sleep for me at night.

The Scale
The morning Miss C was born I weighed 164.5 pounds. About a week later I was 148, and today I am 136.5. I think I gained about thirty pounds this pregnancy, so I have about ten to go given the post-Lion pudge I started with. The numbers look exciting, but my doughy, postpartum belly, with what feels like are floating organs, doesn’t quite look like I only have ten pounds left to shed. I am itching to get into a cardio routine, and I’ve even completed one week of INSANITY. It really challenged my milk production, so I’m waiting a few more months before I dive further into an exercise routine. Pumping and feeding have been the only factors that’s contributed to my weight loss. I’ve pumped so much that we bought a deep freezer on Black Friday and it’s safely storing ounces and ounces for Miss C (I initially wrote this post in November and have an update about this soon). I also had a few serious headaches which were my body’s signal that I needed more calories. In the first few post-partum weeks I experienced migraine-like headaches that I never had with the boys. The combination of attempting INSANITY and cluster feeding left my body running on fumes.

The Hormones
These suckers will creep up on you. Poor Hubby has momentarily lost his wife. One moment, I’m fine and running errands with baby girl, and the next I’m crying because he didn’t change her diaper without me asking him to do and expecting him to read my mind. The swift change in my hormones also gave me nasty night sweats. I would wake up drenched and totally disgusted. The worst effect of the hormones is that my hair is starting to shed now. All the strands that I held onto during those nine months are finally starting their life cycle again, even though I did not have an epidural.

I gladly embrace these few Fourth Trimester symptoms, though. The pregnancy symptoms were far worse, and extended for a far greater length of time. As I reflect on some of the *highlights* of my past pregnancies there is one story that must be shared.

With Gadget, I experienced pregnancy gingivitis, insomnia, cravings for lemon tarts from Whole Foods, and after his birth, bowel incontinence. What is bowel incontinence you say? Well, it’s when you can’t hold your poo in. So gross. But you see, the doctor used forceps with the Lion, so things were a little rattled down there, and I had to take very seriously all cues for the bathroom. There were no warning signals, just a flash to alert me to high-tail it to the bathroom, or else…

Unfortunately, I experienced “or else.” One morning while in my fourth trimester with the Lion, I went down to Hell’s Kitchen to run an errand. Lion and I left so early that I didn’t have time for breakfast, so I grabbed a cup of fresh squeezed orange juice before getting on the subway to head back home after completing the errand. Now, even with a healthy functioning digestive system, fresh squeezed-anything will get your juices flowing.

I carried the Lion’s stroller into the subway, and we waited for the NRW train. And waited. And waited. And while we waited my stomach started to rumble. Now, had I known what would next transpire, I would have gladly carried the stroller back up the stairs, found a restroom, and not thought twice about losing my train fare or the germs in a public bathroom. But on that particular day, I decided to stay and wait for the train. By the time it arrived the rumbles began to come in waves. With each wave, I got a little flushed and dreamt of being in the comfort of my own home to end the rumbling. The NRW didn’t run up to my stop, so we had to transfer to the B train at 34th. So many trains arrived on the platform, but none of them were my train home. I sat on one of the subway benches, which was helping to keep everything inside me. I knew standing up and walking around would only agitate and increase the rumblings, so I sat and waited. And waited. And waited some more. And finally when the train came, all I could do was envision the relief of making it to the bathroom. The fresh squeezed orange juice had made its way through my system, and was pushing out everything is it’s way. I fantasized about sitting on the clean, private vinyl lined room in my apartment. By the time I made it to 116th street, I could only run home. I carried the stroller up the subway stairs, shuffled across the street and began to sprint-push the stroller along the block standing between me and home. I wasn’t going to make it. The rumbling had changed into bubbling, and the bubbling and gravity were working in cahoots to publicly embarrass me.

Flustered, I bustled through the door of the coffee shop just meters from my apartment door. I wasn’t going to make it home. I shoved the stroller into the single bathroom, but a gentleman stood up to help assist me with the door. He was moving too slowly, way too slowly, and the bubbling was coming out. By the time I got the stroller inside and the door closed it was too late. Way too late.

At noon I would head up to the locker room and text Evelyn. She was my pumping buddy. I think every woman should have a pumping buddy. We would tell each other we were headed to pump and send each other messages throughout the day. This was huge for me! At NYU, business school kept moving whether I was at events or not, and it was so easy to feel like I was being left behind. At noon corporate presentations were being held, CEO’s were speaking at Lunch n Learns, or my girlfriends were going to Chipotle for a chicken burrito: all things I was missing because I had to pump.

Well, with my pumping buddy I was not alone. I had someone who understood how labor intensive pumping is. How you have to clean and pack and prepare for each meal you save when you’re away from your baby. My pumping buddy understood what a sacrifice it took to pump daily, but we also understood the reward – that when we returned home, we had milk enough to snuggle with our boys and nourish them from our bodies. The coolest thing was that we were pumping at exactly the same time. I knew that right at that moment, some hundreds of miles away in Chicago, someone else was pumping and thinking of their babies just like me.

Some days I was excited to pump only because Evelyn sent me a text message that she was going to pump. Some days it was motivation, because I knew that she was pumping for two, and that if she, as a first time mom could do it, I could definitely do it. Some days she would text and I wouldn’t reply because I was going later. Some days I would text, and she had pumped before me. But most days, we were in sync, supporting each other. I honestly believe I would have given up months sooner without Evelyn. I don’t think she understood how instrumental she was during the first weeks of pumping. She had been doing it all summer for her premie boys, but in September 2008 when school started, it was the first time I used the pump since Amari was 9 months old. I had savored in the freedom of nursing Joshua wherever I went. Something I had not had the confidence to do with Amari.

Evelyn, thank you. I did it with you.

As a result, I found myself asking to borrow his office to pump in because there was no clean place to pump. The super ignorant and ridiculous HR manager asked me to pump in the bathroom. Oh the ignorance! She even had the gall the say, “but I thought pumps were self contained”!!! As a result of not pumping for an entire day, I came home to find that I did not have enough milk for a full nursing and Amari was still starving, so I gave him formula for the first time.

He broke out in hives along his body and had projectile vomiting. I was through. The next day I marched into work and demanded that a private, clean pumping space was created. Within 48 hours there was an annex in the woman’s bathroom, partitioned off by sheet rock. It had a door that locked from the inside, a freshly steamed couch, a table, magazines and an outlet. This was much, much better.

Unfortunately, this was not the case for the the poor ex-Isotoner employee who was recently fired for taking too many pumping breaks. I will never buy Isotoner again. My experience consisted of me trying to locate a place to pump everyday, but I never felt like my job was on the line for disappearing for 15 minutes during lunch. I probably should have been pumping three times, minimum two times a day while at work, but fitting in one session was hard enough.

I hated that my life revolved around a 3-4 hour lactation clock, and I did not even get to enjoy the intimacy of breastfeeding my baby. Yes, I got to breastfeed Amari in the morning and again when I returned home from work, but dragging around my mechanical baby, aka my Avent double electric pump, was making me spite the blessing that breastfeeding was meant to be.

I was glad that after me, the 100 or so other female employees that worked in the plant now had a place to pump if and when they needed one. Unfortunately, it required me to make a bit of a scene in order to get my totally clueless HR manager to take some action.

In Melbourne, there were some days that I STRONGLY regretted weaning him. He was only seven months old. But, there were times when I thought, boy am I glad that I’m not lugging around a pump all day, as we traveled to the Melbourne zoo, attended Cricket games and toured wineries in Victoria.

My breastfeeding experiences have been like a roller coaster. Initially, I felt like a milk slave for Gadget, but by the end of the experience, I couldn’t wait for baby number two, and now, for the next one whenever we’re so blessed. I was even bold enough to breastfeed in public (with a cover) with the Lion, and I wish I had been that brave the first time. I encourage all breastfeeding moms to keep it up!

I am currently motivated to lose weight by my appearance in clothes. I have an expectation of how I will look, and I am disappointed by my reflection, but I am empowered to know that I am changing that. This summer has been awesome for me. I have been burning between 300-500 calories daily on the stairmaster. I have lost 11 pounds since January 1, when I began my weight loss quest with the help of my Wii Fit.

Exercise was not enough to make these changes. I have had to change what I put into my body (although Hubby would say I have more changes to make). I eat oatmeal every morning with strawberries or granola on top. I am chidded for the dollop of whipped cream that I add.  My favorite lunch has become grilled flank steak with onions, green and chile peppers, marinated in a honey-teriyaki sauce, over brown rice. I enjoy most of my meals with water, or my new favorite drink, zero-calorie, did you catch that, ZERO-CALORIE lifewater made by Pepsi.

My goal now is to firm my abs, which have been stretched beyond recognition. I have taken one Pilates class which gave great instruction, but practice makes perfect. I am going to resume Pilates after I start working since I hear I can take a class during lunch at my new job.

I guess the only reason I am so vehemently against some of this crunchiness, is because I have been a working mother. I took five months off with my first child, and then worked for six months while Amari was in daycare. Next week, we will enroll both boys in daycare when we begin our fulltime jobs, so this whole nursing-for-years thing becomes almost impossible for WOHMs (you like my new term for working out of the home moms?).

Ultimately, I am fine with being sprinkled with granola, because that is how I like my oatmeal some mornings. Btw, the BEST granola EVER is Honey with Almonds made by The Baker brand.