My youngest is about to turn eighteen months. Eighteen long months since having a baby, and my life has not restored order.
But being number four, this isn’t my first rodeo. Here are the steps I find helpful.
1. Don’t look down
I’m afraid of heights. I’m fine if I look up and take one step at a time. If I look down, the whole thing becomes overwhelming.
There were so many ways I spent my time before this last baby. I ran regularly — twenty to twenty-five miles a week. I went to exercise classes at work and found time for extra workouts on top. I read for pleasure. I had quiet time in the morning. I had a social life and friends.
I think about all of that and feel overwhelmed at the prospect of finding room for it again.
That was two years ago. This is now. As with any monumental task, pick one place and work on that. Contemplating where I was gets me nowhere. Contemplating where I need to be, and what the actual next step is, gets me somewhere.
2. Follow through
In high school I did archery. I was state champion two years running.
One of the mantras was FOLLOW THROUGH. If you lowered the bow immediately after releasing, the arc of the arrow was affected and you missed.
Goals are fine, but they don’t happen by themselves. What will it actually take?
In my case I want quiet time in the morning. That means setting the alarm earlier, going to bed earlier, and giving up the snooze button. Right now I’m just showering earlier, because I’m working on shifting my body clock. Quiet time is useless if I’m a zombie for it.
I counted this morning as a win because I woke a minute before the alarm. It has taken real willpower not to hit snooze. Following through means getting out of bed.
3. Keep on keeping on
Be realistic. I have a baby. I can’t expect life to look like it did within two months.
If I’m honest, it takes a solid year to return to any kind of normality. One long year of rebuilding, adding things back a bit at a time — everything from working out how to eat or shower with a baby, to going back to work. And heaven help us all if the house is supposed to be clean on top of it.
It all takes time. The only way through is to keep trying. The surest way never to get there is to quit.
In the same spirit of realism, there are things I won’t manage for years. I’d love to learn to knit and make baby blankets and little hats. I’ve concluded there’s a reason small children’s blankets are made by grandmothers rather than working mothers. Someday.
This is the longest I’ve ever taken to get back to myself. This past year I haven’t even photographed my children with my beloved Canon. This baby is my caboose, and cherishing every minute of his babyhood mattered to me.
But as we come out of it, I’m finally ready to start tackling the subject of me. Next goal after the morning quiet time: exercise. I badly miss running, and there’s a watch that’s been calling my name.
What this applies to beyond babies
Reading this back, almost none of it is specific to having a child.
It’s a description of returning to capacity after any disruption — illness, bereavement, a house move, caring for a parent, a period where the business consumed everything. Owners go through versions of this repeatedly, and generally handle it badly for the same reasons.
The comparison is the problem, not the capacity. Looking at what you used to manage and measuring today against it produces nothing but discouragement. The relevant question is what’s the next step from here, not how far below the old line am I.
Recovery takes longer than anyone budgets for. A year, in her estimate, after a baby. Businesses do the same thing — a founder returns from something major and expects to be at full output within a fortnight, then treats the shortfall as a personal failing rather than the obvious consequence of what just happened.
Rebuild in order, one thing at a time. Not everything at once. She’s doing sleep first, because everything else depends on it, and exercise second. That sequencing is the actual insight. Most people attempt full restoration simultaneously, achieve none of it, and conclude they’ve lost something permanent.
And accept that some things are genuinely not coming back yet. The knitting isn’t happening this year. Saying so plainly is better than carrying it around as a standing failure.
The archery point is the best one
Follow-through is the difference between a goal and an outcome, and it’s almost always unglamorous.
Wanting morning quiet time is easy. The follow-through is going to bed earlier, which means ending the evening earlier, which means giving up the one stretch of the day that belonged to you. Nobody puts that in a goal-setting exercise, and it’s the entire thing.
Lower the bow too early and the arrow goes wide, however good the aim was.
