Mamá, cuarta luna

The fourth month… after the birth is a tricky one.

The “fourth trimester” is over. The baby is bigger now. Smiley. Probably deliciously chubby. The constant adrenaline rush to keep them alive is fading. Still there in reserve, if you need it — but no longer flooding every vein.

The maternal body is negotiating with itself. Which hormones to keep. Which to let go. The mix isn’t always perfect. Emotions come in waves, often stronger than the reason behind them. Nights can feel hopeless. Mornings, strangely optimistic. The ordinary becomes irritating. The harmless becomes maddening. 0–100 in seconds — faster than a Tesla. This month, mama needs mountains of support and oceans of comfort. And understanding, even when it’s hard to agree with her.

The hair — the glorious, pregnancy-grown-thick hair — begins to fall. Sometimes in alarming handfuls. Mama wonders if she’ll lose it all. Remember: 0–100… instantly. The skin loses its baby-smooth glow. Bones and muscles shift back into place. The supernatural flexibility is gone, and muscle soreness has returned — even after a long walk. The body is losing its superhuman perks. And loss always stings more than gain. Those powers slipped in unnoticed, hidden among a thousand other changes. But their departure is loud, impossible to ignore in this hypervigilant, hypersensitive time.

Some mamas whisper “help.” Some say it out loud. Some just scream. Some cry. Many cry. Probably all cry.

Papa can be a lifeline, if he’s there — helping with the baby, steadying mama’s emotions, grounding her perspective.

Papa can also be a wound, if he’s absent — chipping away at her happiness, deepening her sadness, shaking her sanity.

And the baby? Always adorable. A four-month-old reminder that change comes fast. That this month will pass. The hormones will settle. And one day mama will look back and maybe not even remember the storm.

This is why I write it down.