Yes, don’t mess with my kids.

Growing up, girls are not taught how to stand up for themselves. Be quiet, be polite, don’t complain, blablabla. It’s everywhere: at school, at a friend’s house, in TV shows, sometimes even at home. We go from girls to women to mothers. After becoming a mother, I knew what I considered acceptable and what was off-limits regarding my kids. I realized the only people who could advocate for them were their father and I. This is a little scary, but when we become mothers, we find a way to summon that strength to fight. I don’t know how to explain where it comes from, but it’s there.

It started during pregnancy. My first doctor refused to talk to me about birth. I knew in my heart she was going to push for an unnecessary C-section (because that’s the way things happen in Brazil), so I switched doctors. I researched and researched and researched until I found a doctor I trusted. That was my first training, when I realized my hands were steering the wheel and I had to speak up for myself, otherwise things would go sideways.

Then my daughter was born, and the hospital was pushing for formula in such an aggressive way. While my breasts were dripping with colostrum, I heard people say: You are being negligent, but if you don’t want to feed your own daughter, that’s your choice. Yes, I heard that when I was three days postpartum. Yes, I cried like a baby, but I also pushed back and said NO. So I pumped and gave her my own milk as a complement. She learned how to feed, gained her weight back, and we went home.

When I was out with my baby, I noticed people saying things like, “She is so cute, I want to take her home” or “She is so cute, I’m going to steal her”. I don’t know why people say things like this, but that triggered one of my worst fears and anxieties, so I started to say a few things back.

“No, you are not” with a smile. “Please, don’t say things like that” depending on the person. And one time, I said, “No, you are not” and the woman replied with, “Yes, I will” and I yelled in the middle of the store, “NO YOU ARE NOT BECAUSE THAT IS KIDNAPPING AND I WILL CALL THE POLICE”. I got so freaking mad. And you know what? It felt good. Pushing back, being a little crazy, and, as my therapist says, not bringing the discomfort home. Leaving it to the other person.

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After dealing with strangers, then came the time to deal with family. This is what hurts the most. Since my daughter was two months old, every time I visited my father, he turned the TV on for my baby. I don’t mind the TV on, I don’t mind him watching TV. But my kids don’t watch TV yet, so please, unless YOU want to watch Peppa Pig, turn the TV off. I had this conversation with him a thousand times. I explained all the reasons in all the different ways I could possibly imagine. He still turned the TV on. Until the day I kind of exploded. I was sad I had to raise my voice, but it got to a point where nothing else seemed to work. Even if it makes me exhausted, I will fight this fight. Because they are my children and I will not cave.

Recently, I had to learn to speak up with my mother-in-law, something I never thought I would have to do. Sometimes, when we are talking to our daughter, she interrupts us to say the same thing we are saying. Or she waits until we are done and then proceeds to say the exact same thing. Thank you, but we don’t need anyone translating what we say to our own daughter. So now we have a situation that looks like this: I start talking to my daughter. MIL interrupts. I say something like, “Just a minute, I am dealing with her”. Then I finally talk to my own daughter. And my MIL gets upset, of course. My husband talked to her about this several times, and it didn’t seem to have any effect. So it was my turn. I talked to her, I told her I know she wants to help, but this attitude can’t happen. I can’t have anyone interrupting me while I talk to my daughter. I can’t have anyone translating me to my own daughter.

Speaking up is hard. Standing up for ourselves sometimes feels impossible. Standing up for our kids is still hard, but it’s easier. It’s easier because we can find that fire inside of us. We think of all the times we let someone walk all over us, and we know we won’t allow the same thing to happen to our children. We know we have to protect them. We know we have to teach them to protect themselves and to speak up for themselves. To break this cycle.

So yeah… don’t mess with my kids.

Thank you for being here,

Bruna

Then when my first baby was born, all she did was sleep. This was actually a problem because she was losing weight, so instead of feeding on demand, I had to wake her up every 3 hours so she could feed and, of course, this got me really tired. But it was still easy: I’d wake her up, feed her and she would go back to sleep. After her weight was not an issue anymore, we let her sleep for as long as she wanted and by her third month, we were already sleeping 8 hours per night.

When I got pregnant for the second time, instead of mentally preparing for the hard things, I thought history was going to repeat itself and believed our second baby would also be a sleepy one. So naive… My second baby woke up hourly. Literally. Actually, the most he slept was one hour. Sometimes he slept for only 20 minutes. That’s when I actually met them: the sleep deprivation and the extreme exhaustion. That was when I understood mothers are living completely different experiences depending on their sleep.

So every hour (or less) I woke up, changed his nappy, fed him until he fell asleep again. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, there would be another pee or a poo that would blow out and I had to change all his clothes. Then back to the boob, back to sleep. Very quickly we abandoned the crib and he was sleeping in the bed with us. Then my first baby, who had slept through the night since she was 3 months old, decided she was going to wake up in the middle of the night again to see her little brother. Suddenly, we abandoned our own bed and all the mattresses were placed on the floor in my bedroom so we could all slept together: my partner, the baby in the middle, me, my daughter by my side. And I loved it. I remember being in the middle of my two perfect children thinking “this is the best place in the universe”.

I remember the comments of people trying to help. You should get him checked for something (we are taking care of him and his doctor is very aware of our situation, but thank you), you should get him baptized (not really, but thank you), you should call my sleep consultant (I would never, I thought to myself; but thank you, I said), you should do this, you should do that. I did all I could at that time which was: attend to his needs. He would wake up crying, I would comfort him, change his nappy, feed him, lay by his side. Again and again and again.

Since then, we went through very different phases regarding his sleep. At some point we moved the kids back to their bedroom. Sometimes, he slept through the night and I woke up really confused, my breasts hard as a rock, wishing he would wake up to feed. (Funny how things go, right?) Sometimes, he woke up and got back to sleep. Sometimes, he didn’t go back to sleep at all. Sometimes, he fed until he slept. Sometimes, he slept by himself in his crib. No pattern here. Each week was different from the last. But things were definitely better than the newborn phase.

Until… his first birthday. After he became one, a new pattern appeared: waking up at 1am and not sleeping until 4am. If I picked him up, he got really agitated and was ready to start the day and play. If my partner got up, he stayed on the couch with him but took hours to go back to sleep. So every night my partner woke up and stayed on the couch with the baby until 4am. He was wrecked. Then, I heard the words I did not want to hear: please, let’s call the sleep consultant. I felt so bad for seeing him exhausted like that but I didn’t want to call her at all. I swore I would never call a sleep consultant — because from what I had heard and read about, they would tell me I had to stop breastfeeding and let my kid cry in his crib and this is something I would never do.

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But not sleeping again was affecting our family, my partner’s job, our relationship, our physical and mental health. So I did it, I called the sleep consultant. For me, that was my worst failure as a mom. All I could see was failure. My pride was hurt. I almost started our conversation saying “I don’t really want to talk to you” but then I remembered I was the one who hired her and that my mom raised me to be polite, so instead I told her what was going on, all our history with sleep and I told her my two conditions: I will keep breastfeeding and I will never let my kids cry alone in their bed. If they cry, I will always pick them up.

I found out that the consultant was actually very sweet. She assured me she would never tell me to let him cry and that I could breastfeed for as long as I wanted. At that point, my son wasn’t being fed to sleep anymore. I would feed him and then my husband rocked him to sleep. The consultant analyzed everything I had told her and she said to my husband: stop rocking him to sleep. Keep him in your arms, but no rocking, no movement. And since that night, he never woke up and spent hours awake again.

To this day, we have good and bad nights. Sometimes the kids sleep through the night and we wake up at a decent hour. Sometimes the kids sleep through the night and insomnia (or the cats) keeps me awake. Sometimes the kids wake up and go to our bed and we sleep with a foot on our necks. And that’s ok. But I wrote this to tell every mother who is not sleeping: I see you. I know it’s hard, sometimes it feels like it’s impossible. But there is no shame in asking for help. There are infinite professionals around the world and there is always someone whose values align with ours.

Thank you for reading,

Bruna

On my mother’s side of the family, I am the youngest one. I have an older sister who was my role model and who opened a lot of doors for me. I didn’t have any trouble going to my first party, staying out late, or going to a friend’s house because she had already opened this path for me. (And I’ll be forever grateful.)

But on my father’s side of the family, things are the opposite: I am the oldest. His first child, the first grandchild for my grandparents. If you read my article Lucky To Have Two Mothers, you know that in my father’s family I have my father and my stepmother, my other mom. And for a long time, it was just the three of us. I experienced being an only child, which is a unique experience, until I was 14. My sister was born when I was 14 and my brother was born when I was 20, a pretty big age gap there. So we don’t have the same family, even though we do. Here is the story:

I grew up with both my grandparents, and they were happy and very loving. I had all their attention to myself, they cooked my favorite meals, they did everything I wanted, they took me to playgrounds, they told me stories. I remember sleeping in the same bed as my grandmother (poor grandpa) and when I woke up, breakfast was already made and all I had to do was eat and enjoy my day. I remember helping my grandma bake cakes and doodling funny things on the photos in the newspaper with my grandpa. When I look back at my childhood, it was filled with love from them.

My grandfather passed away when I was about to turn 18. My younger sister was only 3 years old, and we hadn’t even dreamed about my brother surprising us and being part of our family yet. After he passed, everything changed. My grandmother changed. It hurts to say this, but it’s like her life ended as well, even though she is still alive and healthy. I know sometimes grief is impossible and it shows in different ways, and I cannot imagine going through what she has been through. But it’s been 16 years, and I watched her become a completely different person. A few years after he passed, my father invited her to move in with us. I know he meant well. All he wanted to do was take care of his own mother. But boy… what a mistake.

There were a lot of family issues that I won’t mention here, but because of them, my grandmother became bitter towards my father. It was as if his happy life and success were somehow hurting other people. At this point, I had already left home and spent some years abroad. When I went back, I couldn’t believe what was happening. She compared him to my aunt and my siblings to my cousins, all the time. If my sister did something cool, like a dance presentation or getting an A on her paper, she would hear, “your cousin also dances really well” or “she is also very smart.” No “congratulations.” She made hurtful comments daily and to everyone - my stepmom, my father, and my siblings. I didn’t recognize my grandmother anymore.

And this makes me so incredibly sad. I look at my siblings - my wonderful, funny, joyful, and loving siblings - and I feel so sorry they didn’t get to know her and our grandfather. That they didn’t get their love as I did. I feel sad that they only know a harsh and bitter grandmother, one that hurts them instead of being loving and kind. I feel sorry they are under her constant criticism and comparison. I feel sorry that Sunday lunches felt like an inconvenience and a place where everyone was tense, instead of a family lunch filled with laughter and joy. On the bright side: we got to understand my father a little better. He found a way to show us how his upbringing scarred him and the things that he went through. And he decided to ask for help, looking for a way to heal. Anyway, back to my grandmother: when I look at her now, I have so many mixed feelings. I feel love for the grandmother she was for me in my childhood, I feel compassion for her pain of losing the love of her life, but I also feel sadness, anger, and frustration for what she has done to my family.

As for my parents, I can also say they are not the same. They were really young and immature when they had me. Plus, I was an only child for so long and all their attention was focused on me. This can be a good thing, but in this case, it wasn’t. I was under constant criticism. I couldn’t even breathe in a way they didn’t like without someone yelling at me, trying to fix me. I guess that is the worst feeling: having people you love constantly trying to fix you. Yes, they were young and had more energy, and we did have fun! But the constant criticism put me on constant alert and now I carry so much anxiety and scars from this.

After I came back to my hometown and witnessed that my grandmother had become a completely different person, I found that my parents had too. They were way more chill and relaxed with my siblings. They became the I-am-your-friend parents. I can name silly things like: my brother could walk around the house wearing his socks because his little feet were cold. That was okay. As for me… I was told off every time one of my socks touched the floor. Or even: my sister was allowed to doodle on her hand and I wasn’t. If my father saw a doodle on my hand, I had a whole lecture unloaded on me. And other things like: going out with friends, hanging out at a friend’s house, staying out late, stuff like that. Things that they crushed me for were praised on my siblings.

I had my sister opening paths for me in my mother’s house, but I was the one fighting for things in my father’s house. It wasn’t easy and I didn’t get much. And what hurts the most is that they don’t acknowledge this. When I stayed out late, I was welcomed with dirty looks at home. When my siblings get home late, the comments are funny and light the next morning: “you won’t believe what time your sister got home yesterday.” And they let her rest for as long as she needs. Meanwhile, I had to wake up early no matter what because “the breakfast table won’t be set up forever waiting for you”.

So this is what I meant when I said my siblings and I don’t have the same family. We have the same grandmother, but I got to see her loving and kind side. I was cared for, loved (and also spoiled) by her. They got her bitter side, the jealous one. They got a person living inside their home who didn’t even like them. Whereas they got the fun, relaxed and friendly parents. While I got the harsh, censorious, and hypercritical ones. I’m not saying I would like them to have the same parents I did. I’m really happy for them, that they got to live a different childhood, that their teens were/are more comfortable and that they get to be themselves. I’m happy my parents learned from their mistakes and that they tried to do better. I’m just a little sad that I was the one who had to experience the mistakes.

Thank you for reading,

Bruna

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I carry a grief that is not mine. I’ve carried it my whole life. And it got stronger after I became a mom.

My grandmother had 4 kids. When her youngest was 16, he was attacked by a gang. I am not going to detail it here, but it was a very violent crime and he didn’t survive his injuries.

I was 6 months old. Which means I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember him, I don’t remember what happened and I don’t remember the days that followed. But I grew up with it. My grandmother fought violence her whole life, even before this tragedy happened. My family talked about it. I knew what had happened and how it happened. There were pictures of him as well as other victims as part of a campaign against violence - in my school, on the streets. It was there. It wasn’t hidden but also wasn’t exacerbated.

This was the family I knew: there was my great grandmother, my grandmother, my mom, my sister, my aunts and cousins - and the memory of my uncle. I knew they had suffered a lot, there were still traces of their suffering. But that was the life I knew. It was “normal” for me. At that point in my life, I didn’t know grief or how it worked. I didn’t know we carried that weight our whole lives.

Then I became a mother. A mother. I had heard people saying mothers would give their lives for their children but I only comprehended the feeling after I had my own children. Now I know the feeling, it lives inside of me all the time. I would give my life for them without even thinking about it. After my first child was born I knew for sure that if something happened to her, my life would end. I wouldn’t survive. But after my son was born I realized that was not an option. If something happens to one of my children, I still have to keep living my life because I still have another person that needs me. That made me even more scared. And every time I felt like that I remembered my grandmother.

How did she do it? How did she survive? Did she change? Who was she before a group of horrible men decided to take her son’s life? How did she wake up every morning and got out of bed? How did she get to work? How did she walk on the streets, drove her car, went to the bakery, celebrated birthdays, made dinner? How did she live her life after such a horrible thing had happened to her? How did she keep fighting? How did she keep smiling and finding joy in life?

My heart goes out to any mother who has suffered a loss. If there were anything I could do to relieve your pain, I would.

It hurts me that I didn’t know this feeling before. That I couldn’t be more empathetic towards her. That I didn’t hug her more. That I didn’t help her more. That I didn’t hold her hand. That I didn’t tell her how much I admire her. It hurts that I never told her I’m sorry about what happened.

This grief is not mine, but I have carried it my whole life. I don’t know what to do with this. At 6 months old I was barely there. I grew up with it. But I never really processed it. What do I do with this feeling? Is it fear of losing my kids? Is it guilt? Is it grief? Or all those things together?

Thank you for reading.

Bruna

On Saturday everyone overslept (thank goodness) and we left the house later than planned. I’m usually very uptight with this kind of stuff, but I was able to manage my anxiety and go with the flow. We took the train, changed for the metro, realized we were on the wrong path, went back to the train station and finally got to the hotel. All week the weather app showed a nice hot sunny day on Saturday but in reality it was overcast with a little drizzle.

At that point I was so frustrated that I told my husband “this was a massive mistake” a few times. Then we got to the hotel room: a very simple room, only our beds and a table. Nothing much, nothing special. And… my daughter was completely delighted. She was running through the room, giggling so much. Our son woke up from his nap and joined her. Then my whole body and mind relaxed and I thought to myself “it was totally worth it”.

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On our way to the lake, they were impressed with everything they saw. My son, who is usually very agitated, was silently observing everything. And my daughter was asking questions for both of them. She was interested in the moss on the trees, the snails on the ground, the giant trees and mushrooms growing on the ground. They both enjoyed the lake, the water, the sand, the playground, every tiny rock they found on their way.

On our way back to the hotel, we saw three deer running around and it was magical! After the kids were asleep, we left them in the room and went to the hotel restaurant to have a beer and talk. And it was such a good moment for us. We were able to talk and connect in a way we hadn’t in months. Just because we left the house. Yes, we were checking the baby monitor every 2 minutes, but it was still worth it.

The next morning we had the same stressful situations we have at home: kids fiddling with stuff they shouldn’t, yelling at each other because someone took someone else’s toy, etc. We all got stressed. But then I realized we weren’t stressed because we were away. We would have been dealing with the same situation if we were at home.

I see a lot of people saying that traveling with kids is just struggling at different address but I can’t completely agree with that. Were we completely tired? Yes. Were we stressed? Also yes. Were we enjoying that experience? Hell yes! After coming home, my daughter asked so many questions about the trip. She mentioned the train, the hotel, the lake, the temperature of the water, the hotel breakfast. She talked about the mushrooms, the deer, the moss and the snails. I am so sure those things are engraved in her memory. And that makes it all worth it.

I didn’t think about myself as addicted - but then again, who does?! I knew I wanted to stop using Instagram because I could feel the moment my brain melted. Kids were asleep, I opened the app just to watch some reels, laugh at some memes and relax. But I couldn’t stop the doomscrolling and at some point my brain just stopped. I could feel it - the moment my brain melted. And from that point forward, I couldn’t do anything else. Nothing creative, no reading, sometimes not even talking to my partner. Then I just watched something to drift off. Another lost night. I wanted an out, but I didn’t know what to do. If I’m not scrolling… what am I doing? (Which is kind of a funny question because I have so many dreams and hobbies.)

Then one day, I decided I was going to start a blog. Thank goodness for that ideia. After I arrived here on Substack, I stopped using Instagram. It wasn’t planned, I just realized I felt better after spending some time here instead of there.

I arrived here and I noticed I had more energy. My brain wasn’t melting. This place is not perfect, there is the social aspect, I still fell a little FOMO, there are millions of saved articles I want to read which gets me more anxious than I would like. But I noticed that, instead of rotting my brain, it actually freed up some space there. A space I didn’t even remember I had.

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So one week after being here on Substack, I changed my phone. I deleted a lot of apps and tried to change my relationship with it. It was great at first, but then I kind of relapsed… I was using my phone way less than before but still a lot. I tried those apps that “turn your iPhone into a dumb phone” but found out they just help to organize your Home Screen in a less appealing way. The apps are still all there, one swipe away.

So I did a second trial - and it worked! Before sharing everything I did, I need to say that doing this made me realize I was actually very addicted to my phone. How did I not see it before? Now that I don’t use it as much, I notice how much I reach for it. The whole day I feel that urge. I don’t go for it, but the craving is there.

What is it trying to fill? We talk about the importance of kids being bored, but what about us? We try to fill every minute with something: a podcast, a scroll, an episode of a series we’ve watched a thousand times. I want to set myself free from my phone.

I want to stop feeling the weight of it inside my pocket. I want to feel bored again. I want to find peace in reading a book again. I want to create without the need for anything in the background. I want to enjoy little ordinary moments - with my kids, with my partner, and alone.

So here is what I did:

• Lock screen: my wallpaper is now a black screen (my phone literally became a black mirror) and I removed most of notifications and all the shortcuts.

  

• Home Screen: my Home Screen doesn’t have any apps or widgets anymore. On my dock there are 4 apps: Phone, WhatsApp, Telegram and Contacts. Because if find myself in an emergency and need to contact my partner, they are easy to find. But now I don’t get tempted to click on any app without actually wanting to.

• Today View: my today view has 8 little squares - clock, weather, calendar, maps, phone usage, reminders, notes and Spotify.

  

• Black and White: my phone is in black and white. There is a shortcut on the control center that helps to turn this on and off. For instance, when I video call my mother, I turn it off. After that, turn back on.

• Control Center: I now rely on the control center as a shortcut to a lot of helpful apps - calculator, flashlight, alarm clock, timer, QR code reader, Google Search.

But most important, I told myself: my phone is a tool. What do I want to do with it? What do I need it for? And I just kept the apps that help me with those specific tasks. Here is the list of apps I have on my phone right now:

• Phone and Messaging: Phone, Contacts, WhatsApp and Telegram

• Photo: Camera, Photos, Google Photos

• Shopping: Amazon and delivery apps. (Yes, I kept those because sometimes we need things ASAP.)

• Bureaucracies: Documents, Health Insurance, Wallet, Bank Apps

• Navigation: Google Maps, Uber, BVG

• Make Our Life Easier: Clock, Weather, Calculator, Measure, Calendar, Gmail, Google Drive, Files, Chrome

• Baby Care: Yes, I need a place to write down the symptoms when my kids get sick and to track medication, otherwise I get lost.

• Fitness and Health: not using it right now but it is a reminder that I need to work out.

• Social Media: Substack.

  ---

That’s that. I deleted everything else. All social media (except Substack), every streaming/video platform. I even deleted YouTube because I noticed sometimes someone would send me a video during the day and I was like “I have to watch it” but I was actually with my kids and I didn’t have to watch it. So no more temptation. I’ll watch and check everything on my tablet after the kids are asleep.

I didn’t delete my Instagram account. I have it on my tablet and I told myself I can use it once a week (but to be honest, I’m not using it). I’m also on a journey to stop following anyone who isn’t friends or family that I want to be connected with. (Business, influencers and really cool girl that studied with me in high school but who haven’t keep in touch for the last 10 years? Bye bye.)

If you have any more useful tips, please share in the comments. Let’s help each other to free up more space in our minds and live our lives offline.

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I don’t want to go back to normal.

To my old self. To the person I used to be. I am doing the most amazing thing, raising tiny little humans that are growing up and becoming someone. I changed and I am okay with that. I love my new self. This new me is way more interesting than the old one.

I don’t want to go back to normal.

I don’t want to fit into my old clothes. That wardrobe doesn’t belong to me anymore. I don’t need the pressure to bounce back. This body is perfect as it is: it created life, it nourished my children. Although I still carry a little pooch, this body is way healthier than my pre-pregnancy one.

I don’t want to go back to normal.

I don’t want to go back to my old, boring job. The moodboards and spreadsheets don’t make sense anymore. I don’t need endless meetings leading nowhere. The corporate world broke my soul. My kids healed me. To honor that, I want to create something new, something exciting, something I will feel proud of!

I don’t want to go back to normal.

Getting wasted and being hungover the next day doesn’t fit my schedule anymore. I want to take my kids to see the world, I want to enjoy daylight, I want to explore nature with them. I want to get excited about sand and water like they do.

I don’t want to go back to normal.

I don’t even know what is normal anymore. I talk about my kids’ poop in casual conversation. I feel like a Disney princess because I spend my days singing - but my songs are about eating, having a shower, pooping and cleaning.

So… f*ck the pressure of going back to normal!

This is a new season, a new Era. I welcome it with an open heart.

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I remember holding my daughter in my arms for the first time. As soon as she came out of my body, my partner held her and handed her over to me. I held that baby, my heart almost exploding. We had a beautiful and peaceful delivery. I spent the whole day laboring, breathing, feeling every contraction, telling myself I was strong and I could do it. And then… I had this precious baby in my arms. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.

Every day I looked at her and I was in awe of how perfect she was. Our love grew a little bit every day - and I’ve come to understand that this is imperceptible. I didn’t realize I loved her more than the day before. And I never thought about it…

…until my son was born. Everything was different with him. I was so excited about the pregnancy but I couldn’t feel every second of it because I already had a daughter to take care of. His birth was different, very quick and intense. Feeling all the contractions, my hips expanding, dilating 10cm, all in 1.5 hours was very intense. I didn’t feel strong, I felt I couldn’t do it. Then, after that intense hour, I had my second baby in my arms. “It’s a boy!” I thought to myself - it was a big surprise!

I remember looking at him and not feeling instantly all the love I felt for my daughter. That threw me into a spiral of guilt and shame. I felt like such a bad mother. What kind of mother doesn’t love their children equally? I couldn’t speak about it at that time and honestly, it is still really hard to write about it. Or even to think about it.

I realized that when I looked at my son, I felt the need to protect him. To feed him. To help him sleep. He was so tiny… he couldn’t do anything. And all I wanted to do was to help him and protect him. Then I realized that was caring for him. That was love. Then I remembered I had 17 months to build a relationship with my daughter, to love her a little bit more every day. Meanwhile, I had just met my son. I was putting too much pressure on myself to love them the same way when all I needed was more time.

When I look at pictures of his first few months, I still feel guilty. And I know that it is something I have to work on to forgive myself. But when I look at him now… oh, my heart explodes! He is the sweetest kid. He has the most wonderful smile. He is charming. He is so funny! He lights up the room. Such a precious baby! My baby boy!

I’ve learned we don’t measure love. We don’t pressure love. We don’t rush love. We just live our lives, one day at a time and we feel love.

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Am I enough for my children? Am I doing enough for them? Do they know they are deeply loved? Can they feel it? Do I say it enough times?

Is it okay to send them to day care? Or am I being selfish? I feel guilty… maybe I should bring them home. I definitely stay with them. But then I get tired… too tired. And stressed. And I yell.

Oh God, I yelled. Are they going to remember this forever? Do they think I am a bad mother? Or do they know I’m doing my best? But then again… is my best enough?

Am I present enough during our time together? Do they like the way I play?

How are they going to remember their childhood? Full of laughter and joy? Or are they going to say “she meant well, but…” while complaining about their traumas in therapy… just like I do?

Are they eating well enough? It’s not always organic, but we try to cook mostly from scratch. Their dad cooks better than I do… Do they like my food? Today dinner is rice and chicken. What kind of mother forgets the veggies?

Am I paying attention enough? When did this rash appear? Did they poop today?

Am I really doing my best? Is my best really enough? They should be using more sunscreen, I know that for sure.

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When things get personal to me, I can get a little… intense. So I tapped into the crazy drive to learn inside of me that was asleep since I quit my old job to stay at home with the kids and I decided to study dishwashers: how they work, the best type of detergent, how to properly load, how to clean the dishwasher itself. After reading about 76 articles and watching 200 hours of YouTube videos (hyperbole alert!), I wrote everything down and I can’t keep this all to myself. I’m a strong believer that knowledge should be shared.

So welcome to The Home Blueprint’s first chapter: Dishwasher 101.

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How Dishwashers Work

Dishwashers are actually very simple machines that rely on basically 5 elements: water, movement, soap, temperature and time.

It is mainly a waterproofed box with sprinklers (spray arms) that splash water around, physically removing the gunk off the dishes. There is a heating element on the bottom that heats the water. The high temperature helps to melt the grease and other particles to dissolve more easily. Obviously the soap plays a very important part here. I’ll get to that later, but it mainly breaks down food particles to get dissolved and reduces the surface tension of the water, allowing it to penetrate the food particles, and encapsulates fats and oils. And for all that to work properly (so you can have your clean dishes by the end of the load) it needs time.

That is it. But nothing I said so far is really news. So… what else?

Maintenance

Let’s take care of our dishwashers before pressuring them to take care of our dishes, shall we?

Clean your filter!!!

Not every dishwasher has a filter, some have a different system to deal with food scraps. But if your dishwasher has a filter, you have to clean it regularly. It will depend on how much you use your dishwasher, I clean my dishwasher’s filter every two weeks. Just twist it and remove it from the bottom. Give it a rinse with hot water to remove the slime, oil buildup, and food particles. Let’s be clear, if you don’t clean the filter, you can’t blame the dishwasher for the dirty dishes. Pro tip: be sure to lock it back into place properly.

Wash the spray arms

The tiny holes in the spray arms can get clogged with food and/or grease after a while. Unscrew the arms, use a toothpick to unclog them. Wash them with a cleaning brush and pop them back in.

Clean the dishwasher

There are products to clean your dishwasher. They are usually a little bottle full of liquid. You have to check the instructions of each product, but usually you just remove the lid, keep the plastic seal, place the bottle upside down on the silverware rack and run a cycle. Make sure the machine is empty. This will help to dissolve hidden grease, eliminate mineral buildup and food particles, stop odor and eliminate bacteria. Remember this is an appliance that deals with moisture and dirty stuff almost all the time. Cleaning it with the right product will help to prolong its lifespan.

Cycles

Cycles have 3 main phases: pre-wash, main cycle and rinse phase. During pre-wash, the dishwasher splashes warm water around to release chunks of food, melt excess grease, and to start softening dried stains. Then it drains that dirty water to prepare for the main cycle. During the main cycle, the dishwasher heats a new amount of water to be splashed around with the soap. Then it drains the water again. During the rinse phase, it uses fresh, clean water to wash away all remaining food particles and chemical residues. Now let’s check the main dishwasher cycles:

Express Cycle

Express cycle compresses the pre-wash, main cycle and rinse phase into 1 hour. Because there is not enough time to activate all the components in the detergent and not enough time to soak the dishes, it relies on water pressure and high temperature (50ºC-65ºC). It will get the job done but it may damage your dishes over time.

Eco Cycle

Eco cycle uses less water and runs at lower temperature (30ºC-50ºC), so it relies on time to let the chemical reactions in the detergent to work. The soaking time will allow the enzymes on the soap to activate and “eat up” the dirt on the dishes, cleaning them more efficiently without the risk of damaging them with water pressure and high temperature.

Heavy Cycle

Heavy cycle will blast the dishes at a high temperature (60ºC-70ºC) with maximum water pressure. It is good for stubborn food that is stuck to your dishes, like burnt food, heavy grease, and baked-on residue.

Auto Cycle

During Auto cycle, the machine will use its sensors to understand how dirty the water is. So each cycle is… unique.

Gentle Cycle

Gentle cycle runs at a low temperature (40ºC-45ºC) and uses a gentler water pressure, which prevents damaging the dishes. It’s best for glasses and fragile dishes.

Detergents, Rinse Aid and Salt

Detergent Components

Here are the main components of dishwasher soap and what they do.

• Enzymes - these are biological catalysts that “digest” stubborn food particles by breaking them down into smaller, easily dissolved pieces.

• Surfactants - these are responsible for reducing the surface tension of the water, allowing it to penetrate food soils and lift them off. They also bind with fats, helping prevent water from leaving spots on the dishes.

• Emulsifiers - these encapsulate fats and oils, allowing them to mix with the water.

• Dispersants - they keep all that washed-off gunk suspended in the water, so they don’t go back to soil the dishes again.

Types of Detergents

There are some different types of detergents powder, liquid, tablets/pods (encapsulated powder/liquid) and a vast discussion about the best type. Each has their pros and cons, but after studying a little bit about it, I have to say I’m switching from tablets to powder.

Tablets and pods are a marketing thing. Yeah, they work well, sure. But the companies tell you each element is released at the right moment and… that’s a lie. They all dissolve at the same time, they are way more expensive and there is the plastic component that I would like to eliminate. Plus, you can’t choose the amount of detergent you want to use. It’s a one size fits all. It works, but you are paying more money unnecessarily.

If you use powder detergent, you can choose how much you need for each load. It’s cheaper than the tablets and they have the same components. Also, you can use it for the pre-cycle, which makes a lot of difference.

Quick Detour To Talk About Pre-Cycle And How/Why You Shouldn’t Skip It

I used to believe that pre-wash was a scam. Every type of pre-wash. I was like, let’s get to the real deal and wash things! But hear me out: in the pre-wash cycle, a lot of the food scrapes are removed from the dishes and stay in the water. The water gets very dirty really quickly, so the machine doesn’t spend a lot of time in it. It drains that filthy water to get to the wash cycle. The main goal of the pre-cycle is to release food particles and grease from dishes.

But do you remember that grease and water don’t mix? Well, if you use a little bit of soap, it will help loosen grease and oils from the dishes more easily. If your machine has a pre-wash compartment, use it. If it doesn’t, just throw a little bit of soap on the door. The pre-wash will be much more effective. After that, the washing cycle will be easier as well. And in the end, you will have your clean dishes.

Rinse Aid

I believed rinse aid was also a scam. Why? I don’t know… (Actually, I do know: I didn’t study anything about dishwashers before, I didn’t grow up with a dishwasher and when I tried to use it the first time, it didn’t work.) But I came here to say: rinse aid is not a scam, please use it. It will make your life easier.

Rinse aid reduces the surface tension of water, forcing the water to create a thin sheet and completely slide off the dishes. This prevents spots caused by evaporating water minerals, and makes the dishes dry faster.

All you have to do is pour the liquid inside the right compartment, it usually is right next to the soap compartment. The dishwasher will drop a few drops of the rinse aid during the rinse cycle. And it will tell you when it’s time to refill with a blinking light (the symbol for the rinse aid is usually a snowflake or a sunburst). It’s that simple!

Salt

Only after moving to Germany did I learn about hard water (water containing high levels of minerals). I noticed my hair was terribly dry and there were water stains in the bathroom and all the appliances. That got me really confused. Then I learned there were a few things I could do. I got the right shampoo and hair conditioner but this doesn’t really matter for this post but made me very happy. Then I learned about the salt for the dishwasher.

Basically, the salt releases sodium ions that trap calcium and magnesium, softening the water. This prevents limescales, helps to better clean the dishes, and gives you spotless dishes (no watermarks on them).

All you have to do is locate the salt compartment (usually on the bottom of the machine) and fill it with the right salt. (It’s not table salt, but you can find it easily in any supermarket.) The machine will tell you when it’s time to refill it by blinking a light (the symbol is usually a stylized S).

The Cheat Sheet

Tips

1. Scrape food, not rinse: you don’t need to rinse the dishes before loading them. Just scrape food from the plates and load them. The dishwasher will do the rest.

2. Basic detergent: try a more basic powder detergent. I know there are a million tablets and pods ready to use, they are very convenient indeed, but they are a waste of money.

3. Eco cycle: for daily uses, try to use the Eco Cycle at the end of the day. It will save you money and help the environment.

4. Always use the soap dispenser: never just throw the detergent inside the machine. It will dissolve during the pre-wash, which usually lasts for 10 minutes, and there will be no soap left for the real cycle. There are a lot of people on the Internet saying to just throw the tablet inside. Please, don’t.

5. Pre-wash soap: if the dispenser has 2 slots, use them both. A little bit for the pre-wash cycle and the rest for the cycle. If the dishwasher doesn’t have the pre-wash dispenser, you can pour a little bit of detergent powder on the lid to help during the pre-wash cycle.

6. Load your dishwasher correctly. The second edition of The Home Blueprint will be about this, but for now: don’t overcrowd the dishwasher, every dish facing the center, bowls and cups also facing down.

7. Test the spinning arm: sometimes it gets stuck because of a big pot or plate. If the spinning arm is not spinning, well… it won’t do the job.

Final Rinse Thoughts

So… that’s it! I truly hope you have enjoyed it. If you didn’t, please don’t judge me and think I’m crazy. The truth is… learning and writing about all this made me feel very happy. (Also sharing it!) I felt a spark inside of me that was asleep for too long.

As I mentioned before, the next chapter of this journey is: how to properly load your dishwasher and what not to load. See you in chapter two.

My parents split up when I was 1 year old. Then, when I was 3, my father met my stepmother. As soon as we met, we became friends. And for the most part of my childhood, that’s what she was: my stepmother - a person who liked me a lot, who treated me really well, who made nice plans for us on the weekends and who took care of me.

As I grew up, our relationship also grew. We became really close. It was really good to have that extra person to help me understand things. If I instantly rejected something my parents said - because that’s what kids do sometimes - I had her there to explain the same thing to me in a different way. And, somehow, it was easier to accept. When I look back to my childhood, when I look at my stepmother, all I saw was someone who took care of me and who helped me.

At some point during my life, we realized we had a mother-daughter relationship. There wasn’t a single defining moment. It was natural. I know that wasn’t expected of us. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. Then, when I was 14 years old, my little sister was born. And I was afraid that my stepmother would realize that that was real maternal love. That she would think “I like Bruna, but now that I have a daughter of my own I know what real love is”. I felt so much shame feeling that way that I didn’t tell her. The funny thing is: our relationship didn’t change. If anything, there was even more love. Six years later, when my brother was born - I was 20, older and a little more mature, I finally told her about the fear I had all those years ago and she shared that she actually had the same fear. Silly us. Little did we know that our love would only grow stronger.

I was raised by two amazing mothers and each loved me, helped me, supported me and taught me in a unique way. One doesn’t erase or diminish the other.

My mother is a wonderful person and an amazing mother. She always showed me love. I never had to do a single thing to feel loved by her. She chose to carry me in her womb. She always wanted me, she always loved me, she always accepted me, she always cherished me.

My stepmother is also a wonderful person. She never saw me as an obstacle or an inconvenience. She chose to live her life with a man that already had a child. She accepted and welcomed me in her life. She chose to be my friend. She chose to work on our relationship. Maybe without even realizing what she was doing, she also chose to be my mother.

After becoming a mother myself, I feel incredibly lucky and blessed to have two beautiful examples of mothers in my life. Two different ways of showing love. Two different ways of experiencing life. Two homes to come back to. Two warm hugs when I need them. Two different types of advice. Two different ways of handling the challenges life throws our way. Two unique ways of being a person in this world. Two wonderful examples of being a mother.

And the cherry on top? My kids are incredibly lucky to have 2 grandmothers.

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Plus this is a critique against the system, I’m not judging anyone who chose a C-section or had to go through one.

I wish this was an article filled with information about birth and with strategies to fight the system. It’s not. This is just me venting.

It’s not just about how the baby will come into the world. It’s not vaginal birth vs C-section. It’s about how the mother is going to be treated during such a delicate moment - a moment she will remember for the rest of her life, whether it was lovely and respectful or traumatizing.

First of all: I come from Brazil, a country with one of the highest C-section rates in the world. But it’s not about the C-section itself; it’s about the whole mafia behind it. Doctors lie and scare families, telling them their baby is in danger just to push an unnecessary C-section, as if it were not a major surgery. I saw that happening to people in my own family. They also found a way to make women so scared of birth by focusing only on the pain, which leads to romanticization of the C-section, to make it look like it’s a pain-free way to bring your child into the world. Because when the surgery is over, the doctor goes back to their life and the woman is left to heal from a very painful surgery alone. (And by alone, I mean the doctor isn’t there to witness. It’s not their problem anymore.) So we got to a point where families are scheduling C-sections before the baby is even ready to be born, with the promise of a pain-free recovery.

I was very privileged to be able to hire the doctor and nurse I believed in, and I was incredibly lucky that they were even more amazing than I could ever have imagined. But while pregnant, I studied a lot about giving birth. And when I say a lot, I mean an absurd amount of time spent reading, researching, and watching documentaries. There is one Brazilian documentary series called O Renascimento do Parto (The Renaissance of Birth) that I actually couldn’t finish watching because of the sheer amount of obstetric violence displayed in it.

Not everyone is privileged enough to be able to hire their first choice of doctors and nurses. Some people must rely on the on-call team. Some rely on public hospitals. Some people can actually afford to hire the best doctors in town, but don’t because they trust the system. The thing is, the medical system is embedded in a capitalist and patriarchal world, and if there is one thing society allows to be mistreated, it is the female body. The system treats birth like a factory assembly line, forcing women to conform to a hospital’s schedule rather than the natural rhythm of labor. It hurts to write this, but it was only after becoming pregnant that I truly understood how normalized violence against the our bodies really is.

So let’s go back to giving birth naturally. When giving birth, a woman should be able to move freely. She should be allowed to have a person with her at all times - her partner, her mother, her doula, her friend - if that is the person she chose to be with her. She should be able to eat and drink whenever she wants. She should be allowed to scream if she needs to.

No birth should be rushed. “The birth isn’t progressing” is a very sensitive, often weaponized phrase. Is it really not progressing, or is it just not progressing according to your schedule, my dear doctor? We need to give women the time and space to birth in peace.

A laboring woman needs to be respected like any other human being on the planet. No one should laugh at her or dismiss her pain. No one should yell at her. No one should tell her, “Well, you chose natural birth, now you have to take it.” - as if the pain were the punishment she deserves for wanting to birth her child. No one should tell her to stop screaming. And when I say no one, I mean not a single person. No doctor, no nurse, no one. No one should tell her to push if she doesn’t feel like pushing. No one should tell her to push if it’s not the right time to push. Furthermore, the Kristeller maneuver (where staff apply pressure to the mother’s belly) or episiotomies are extremely violent acts, no matter how well they are packaged, and no matter how sweet and delicate the doctor is. They are decades out of date and should not be done. Plus, during a C-section, no mother should be listening to the staff making small talk. Play a nice playlist, for God’s sake. Be gentle. Be respectful.

I am tired of listening to people criticize natural birth simply because it is inconvenient for the hospital staff. I am tired of how movies portray birth as something tied to suffering, telling women that it is too hard and that we can’t do it. I am really tired of the myth that a C-section is just an easy, pain-free “way out” to bring a child into the world, completely ignoring the major surgery and intense recovery it actually involves. I am exhausted by listening to birth stories that are full of hidden obstetric violence. I am exhausted by seeing just how normalized violence against our bodies truly is.

Let’s try to change it for the next generation of girls.

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In my group of friends, no one wants to have kids. Although I could share my everything with them when I got pregnant, I didn’t really have anyone to ask about their experience or even to lean on. When I was 30-something weeks pregnant, I went to a birth class at my clinic and I met a lot of moms. One of them was also 30-something weeks pregnant and we connected instantly. We found each other on Instagram but didn’t really talk until our kids were born. I texted her when my daughter was born, and she texted me two days later to tell me her daughter was born as well. After that, we texted almost every day.

It was so refreshing to share that experience with someone. We were living exactly the same phase in our lives: becoming a mother, getting to know our children, saying goodbye to the woman we once were, learning how to survive waking up so many times in the middle of the night, learning how to change a diaper with almost no light, and understanding what each cry meant. We shared both our joys and our fears, our dreams and our frustrations. When the kids were around 3 months old, we met for coffee, and that became our (almost) weekly ritual. I felt way less alone.

Our daughters were born only 3 days apart. Our sons were born 3 months apart. And the funny thing is, with our second children, our ritual of sharing experiences was really different. Of course we still talk a lot, but suddenly we were not living the exact same phase anymore, and this changed the dynamic a little.

I remember when my son was born and he woke up hourly. I was a wreck. I had an 17-month-old toddler who I still breastfed, and I was still trying to process all the health stuff we went through in the previous months. The person who offered to help the most? This friend. She also had an 17-month-old and was heavily pregnant, while also running her own company. She still showed up. And I’ll be forever grateful. Then, when her son was born and I had a 20-month-old, a 3-month-old, and no sleep, I still offered to help. We laughed. No matter how broken we are, we still show up for other moms.

After becoming a mom, it was inevitable that I would meet other moms. I connected instantly with some of them, and we have become very good friends. Especially the ones whose values align with mine, who raise their kids in a similar way. We used to meet for coffee, went on playdates. I miss them a lot since moving countries. But I’ve noticed there is still a connection even with the moms who didn’t become close friends. Because mothers help each other. When we see a child getting hurt, we also hurt. Even when it’s not our kid. Because mothers feel the world in an intense and unique way.

After moving to Germany, I realized the moment I feel more alone is when I take my kids to the playground and I am surrounded by parents. Which is really funny, because I don’t feel alone at all when I’m by myself with them in the house. I don’t feel alone even when my husband is working at night. But I do feel alone at the playground because there are plenty of families sharing that moment together. They are talking, sharing snacks, laughing, and watching each other’s children. The other day, my son took his first 3 little steps, I looked around and I had no one to celebrate with me. It may sound silly, but it hurts a little bit.

We need other moms to remind us we are not alone in the world. We need other moms to remind us we are not doing anything wrong, no matter what the internet or your neighbor’s father-in-law says. We need other moms to relight the fire when we feel we have nothing left to give. We need other moms to remind us we are on the right path. To remind us we are good mothers. We need other moms to cheer each other up and support each other.

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We have all been there: right after announcing the pregnancy, the unsolicited advice comes pouring. Thank you, well intentioned people, but… no. They come from everywhere and cover all topics. What you should do with your own body while pregnant, what type of birth you should have, how you should feed your baby (breast, bottle, or formula), where everyone should sleep, and how to raise your own kids.

The unsolicited advice bothered me so much. However, I realized that when I’m talking to a friend who is pregnant or has a baby younger than mine, I also wanted to give some advice. (Well, what can I do? I’m just a flawed person…) I do my best to be sensitive when speaking, especially to avoid stepping on any toes. But yeah, sometimes I do give my own unsolicited advice.

So… let’s check some of the suggestions you might hear from me even though you didn’t ask for it.

Write letters to your baby

Yes, write letters to your baby. As time goes by we forget stuff. It’s sad we can’t remember everything. But there is one thing you can do to help: write letters to your baby. I started a diary when I found out about my pregnancy and I just kept writing. Of course I couldn’t write every week like I had initially planned, but I write every month, telling them what happened during that month, what they learned, which challenges we faced, how I’m feeling, how I love them, how lucky I am to be their mother.

There are other special topics: the kids’ first 100 words, when they learned to walk, trips we took together, a special random moment. And, of course, the endless funny stories and hilarious things they say. So far it’s all gathered in a group chat I have with myself on Telegram but I plan to design a cute book on Canva and print them, each year will be an edition. And I dream about the day we will look at them together.

Take Videos

On the same topic, this was a piece of advice I heard from other parents and I’m so grateful they said it. They told me: don’t rely only on photos, take videos to help keep the memories alive. We forget the way they move and talk (plus they change so fast) and videos are a great way to remember the special moments. I love to watch the video of my kids when they were newborns. The way they moved was so special and we truly forget that because they are always learning new stuff.

Be Careful With Instagram

That platform is full of influencers living a very different lifestyle than most people, and they sell that lifestyle like it’s something everyone can achieve. Like it’s something every mom should be doing. There’s also a bunch of people and companies trying to sell you courses on how to be a good mother. Be careful especially with the sleep courses. There is also a crazy amount of comparison and competition on who is the best mother or who is the best baby.

It will make you feel like you are doing something wrong and you don’t need that. Seriously, be careful with the content you watch. Pregnancy and postpartum are very sensitive phases, you don’t need to add stress to them by watching people living their “perfect” lives.

Cook And Freeze Meals Before The Baby Arrives

Thankfully, my partner loves to cook. When I was in my third trimester, he decided to cook and freeze some meals so we would have something ready after the baby arrived. He slightly exaggerated and ended up making over 70 savory crepes (or were they burritos?), which was great! It helped a lot.

If you don’t feel like doing it yourself, ask your family and friends to cook for you so you can just freeze the meals. I recently heard about a different type of baby shower: one where friends help get things done, like deep cleaning the house, washing and folding the baby’s clothes, organizing the nursery and the kitchen, and cooking or freezing meals for when the baby arrives. How cool is that?

Buy a Baby Carrier

You will need a carrier more than a crib. At least I did because the baby could always sleep on my bed. Study about the types of carriers and safety rules of babywearing. You can carry your baby close to you from day 1 and it helps so much. If you don’t want people touching and holding your newborn, just pop them in. If they don’t want to sleep or are fussy or don’t stop crying, pop them in. If you want to go for a walk or maybe do the dishes, pop them in. I could spend the whole day naming reasons to get a carrier, but the bottom line is: it just makes life infinitely easier.

Information Is Your Most Powerful Tool

I come from Brazil, where the system is broken and it’s really hard to trust that doctors are doing what is best for you and your baby. Most of the time, they have their own best interests at heart. Not yours. So my advice is: information is your most powerful tool. No one has the ability to take it from you. So study about everything that is important to you — from pregnancy to introducing solids to raising your kids. Everything. I will list here the things that were important to me.

Study About Birth

Don’t trust other people’s experiences. Study about natural birth and about a C-section. Understand every single phase of birth, what will happen to your body during each phase. Understand how a C-section is done and what it takes to recover from the surgery. Understand what can happen when you get an epidural. Understand how inductions are made. And then make your decision.

In my opinion, it’s good to have a plan A, plan B and plan C in mind. Things probably won’t go as planned anyway, but if you are well informed, you will be able to fight for your rights and no one will deceive you. Also, your partner should have all that information because it’s really hard to advocate for yourself when you are in labour.

Study About Feeding (breastfeeding and formula) Before Having Your Baby

Each mother has her own journey and what is right for one mother might not be best for you. If you want to breastfeed, don’t rely on your instincts because this is not instinctive at all. Study so you can understand what colostrum is, what happens when milk is coming in, how to deal with engorgement (usually your grandmother will tell you to take a hot shower - that will only make it worse) and what is a good latch looks like. And wait, because even if you scored 100 on the written exam, you still need your baby to do the final test. If you want to use formula, you need to understand the cost and logistics that this will involve. Again, my advice is study.

Study About Elimination Communication/Natural Infant Hygiene

Not because you have to use cloth diapers or potty train at an early age. Not because your baby must be the first one to let the diapers go. But because not every baby’s cry means colic. Sometimes it is infant dyschezia and you can treat it by just holding your baby in the right position, avoiding unnecessary medication. By doing that, you help them understand the process of pooping. My daughter needed help until she was 3.5 months. After that, it got much easier. But during those 3.5 months we learned her cues and were able to help her when she needed to poop. Her crying basically stopped.

I also know some parents that had to go to the hospital or used a suppository with their babies because they were X days without pooping. Maybe that could have been avoided by simply putting the baby in the Natural Infant Hygiene position.

Find a Good Doctor

You will live each pregnancy once. You will deliver your baby once. There is no redo. You should feel comfortable with your doctor, it has to be someone you trust. My first doctor was my old OBGYN and after our first appointment she refused to talk to me about natural birth. Next appointment, the same thing happened. I didn’t sleep until I found a doctor that I could really trust. Best decision I ever made. She didn’t let me down. I had amazing prenatal care, she answered all my questions during our appointments and she really supported me during birth.

Your Instincts Matter

I heard from so many friends (and from my own thoughts) that they were afraid of “doing something wrong” with the baby. This makes me so sad because I know how much love they are giving them, and all their struggles and sacrifices. But I also know we have all been there. No mother should feel guilty for doing what she thinks is best for her child. Keep your baby close to you, they will not grow up to be spoiled because of that. Let them sleep on your bed if you want, they won’t stay there forever. Breastfeed until you believe it is enough. We live in the Information Era but sometimes too much information can make us feel like we are doing something wrong. Studying is really important but so is listening to your instincts. You know what’s best for your own baby, mama.

So, that’s it! That is my own list of unsolicited advice. Is there any advice you usually pass along to your friends? What is something you wish you had heard when you went through this experience for the first time?

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The mom I prepared to be when I first got pregnant. The mom I became when I held my daughter in my arms for the very first time. The mom that was able to mourn the woman left behind and that knew life would never be the same.

I know this doesn’t happen to everyone and I’m not trying to romanticize motherhood, but enjoyed almost every single moment since the day I found out I was pregnant. Actually, even before, when I just felt that I was pregnant. I enjoyed both my pregnancies, giving birth, breastfeeding, and even waking up in the middle of the night to feed my babies. I was calm and able to listen to my instincts. Most of my free time was spent researching, reading, and learning. I loved it, and I felt good at it. It was the best version of myself that I had ever met.

I miss the mom I used to be. That mom was natural. Optimistic.

I remember at that time people telling me I should focus on myself, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel that moment deep in my soul. All I wanted was to focus on being a mother. Soak it all in. It was fun and exciting getting to know that new woman. Even when I was being introduced to new fears and feelings (which was very exhausting mentally speaking) I still managed to enjoy the moment. The transformation.

I miss the mom I used to be. That mom was peaceful. Present.

But then… life happened.

We faced issues that I never thought we would. At the end of my second trimester, right as I was entering the third, my partner had a seizure in the middle of the night, scaring the hell out of me. This seizure was so intense he fractured two vertebrae and had to use a medical vest for over two months. And we only found out a month later. He was in pain for weeks, and the doctors at the hospital kept telling us that it was normal. In the middle of that, we spent a month in Australia where he carried our then 15-month-old baby and all our baggage. But that’s a whole other story. Anyway… because of the injury, he was unable to pick up our daughter, which threw him into a depressive state. Then my daughter caught bronchiolitis and pneumonia twice in one month. That broke me. To top it off, I got the flu and coughed so much that my ribs got inflamed. Because of the pregnancy, my anti-inflammatory options were… none. After we all finally got better (thankfully), my son was born.

Just like that, I was now divided into two mothers. And I hadn’t prepared myself for that. I didn’t prepare myself for feeling that way, for wanting to be in two places at once, all while still processing everything we had been through since the night of the seizure.

I miss the mom I used to be. That mom was fun. Spontaneous.

Then I got my period back and the hormones wrecked me. I became deeply depressed and incredibly stressed. I couldn’t find joy in motherhood anymore. Actually, I couldn’t find joy in anything. I spent the whole day wishing for bedtime just so I could be alone. I started yelling at my kids, and I stopped recognizing myself. It was a very dark time. I hate that I showed the part of myself that I dislike the most to the people that I love the most. This comes with a lot of shame and guilt, and those feelings were eating me alive.

I miss the mom I used to be. Where is that mom?

To finish this story, I went to my OBGYN, who mentioned something about PMDD. Now I’m back on the pill and I’m feeling better each day. But I can’t say I’m back to normal because I’m not that mom anymore. I feel overwhelmed and I still have bad days. I’m suffering from sensory overload. I crave silence. Now I’m finally mourning the mom I used to be. It hurts to realize I’m not that person anymore, because when I look back, I still think she was the best version of myself I’ve ever met. And I know I will never go back to being her.

I miss the mom I used to be.

But I’m learning to let her go. I’m learning to welcome this new mom with an open heart. I can feel that she is stronger than the old one. Certainly more resilient and confident. More empathetic and far less judgmental, especially toward other mothers. She is way more complex. And carries her own dreams and ambitions alongside her love for her kids.

I miss the mom I used to be. Maybe I will always miss her. And maybe… that’s okay.

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Picture this: a mom with an almost two-year-old daughter and a five-month-old baby. This mom was anything but bored with so many things on her plate. The same mom had an idea: what if the party decoration were made from cardboard? That would be so cool! (Spoiler: it totally was.) Seriously, I don’t know how I pulled it off, but I’m so glad worked!

The theme was Safari. Why? Because my daughter was becoming a wild thing (as every two-year-old does), and I wanted to embrace that wildness. Plus, she is such a curious explorer and I also wanted to honor that.

So, we had a cardboard Safari featuring: an elephant, a hippopotamus, a giraffe, a jaguar, monkeys on vines, a 3D crocodile, a 3D snake, birds, a huge sun, some trees trees and balloon bees. Oh! There was also a Jeep that the kids could actually get inside and play!

But why would I spend my precious free time doing this instead of resting?

First, because I wanted to. Honestly, I made this as much for myself as I did for her. It helped me relax and feel creative. I also wanted her to feel loved. Since we had a new baby, she was learning to share her mom, her dad, the boobs and all the attention. I wanted her to look at these pictures years later and think, “Wow, they did this for me.”

Second, I really enjoy decor, but sometimes I get a little bored with standard party decorations. It’s always the same formula. The theme changes, but the vibe stays the same. I wanted something different this time.

Third, there was the sustainability factor. I want less plastic and more recycled materials in our lives. I decided I would make the entire decor out of cardboard and it wouldn’t go to waste after the party. (And it didn’t! Stay with me, and I’ll tell you what happened to it.)

So I did it. For weeks my dining table was covered with a plastic sheet, full of cardboard, scissors, a hot glue gun and a loooot of paint and brushes. I had to ban myself from Pinterest to keep myself from having more ideas for the party. Then I sketched, I improvised a projector using plastic sheets and my phone’s flashlight, I cut, I painted. I made mistakes, I fixed some of them, I cried over some others, I redid a few things. I thought about quitting, I talked myself into it again. I spent weeks feeling good about what I was doing and questioning myself at the same time. A lot of ups and downs. It was really fun and messy. And my favorite part was doing it with my kids. My daughter liked to help, to paint and play with the brushes. It was really sweet to include her in the process and to be able to give her this experience. And then, after many weeks, it was finally done.

You should see me panicking one day before the party. Is this enough? Is it going to look good? Is she going to like it? Oh no, it’s going to look like a pile of trash painted by a crazy mother. Then I put it all together and it was gorgeous! I was so happy to see everything in the right place. Plus during the party I heard a lot of impressed “Did you make this?” and “This looks beautiful!”. Honestly, it was a great ego boost. So let’s check some pictures of that beautiful and fun day!

I loved every single piece, but the Jeep was my favorite. Watching the kids play in it during the party was priceless. It stayed in our living room for months afterward as a permanent toy. The kids loved it so much!

So, what happened to the rest of the cardboard Safari? After decorating our home for many months, we decided to move to Berlin. So I donated the entire set to an organization that cares for children. I hope it brings as much life to their playroom as it did to our party and living room.

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As soon as we left our apartment, I crossed paths with a dad on his bike, he smiled, shouted “Super Mama!” and pedaled off. This simply made my day. I thought to myself “hell yeah, I am a Super Mama!” but it made my wonder why don’t people recognize this more often?

Back in Brazil I used to go to the supermarket with the kids all the time. Actually I used to go everywhere with the kids. No one ever congratulated me for it. But every time my husband went out with the kids (or even just one kid) he always came back saying that someone told him how cool it was to see him going out with them, how nice it was to see him babywearing, that he was doing a good job, etc. All those things are true, but why do we congratulate dads when they do the bare minimum while remaining silent towards moms as if they were just doing their job?

This is not a criticism of my partner, who is an amazing person, the best dad I could possibly imagine (I always say he does everything, the only thing he doesn’t do is breastfeeding - only because he can’t - but still supports and cares for me while I do it) and takes care of the house just like I do. This is a criticism of how society treats moms vs dads.

There’s a lot to unpack here, I could spend hours and days talking about the mental load mothers carry alone in most families, or how the corporate world rewards fathers and punishes mothers when it comes to salaries and opportunities. But today I am aiming for something much smaller.

So let’s get some things straight:

• A child is as much their father’s responsibility as they are their mother’s;

• Dads are not helping when they take care of their own children. They are parenting;

• All care must be shared: feeding, bathing, and park trips, but also the mental work like remembering to buy diapers, booking doctor appointments, knowing their shoe size, and the teacher’s name;

• Sometimes moms are entitled to do the bare minimum as well;

• Moms deserve more “me time” than just a shower;

I am not saying we should stop congratulating dads, they are also doing their jobs and it’s nice being appreciated. But we need to start valuing the work mothers do. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. Sometimes, a simple “Super Mama!” is enough to make someone’s day.

So yeah, mama, you are doing a great job!

P.S. If you have something you’d like to add to this list, please let me know in the comments!

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You spend your time dreaming about the baby and planning everything. (Trust me, you can’t plan 10% of that with your second baby because you are too busy running after your kid. Plus, you are not that special anymore because now you have a child and that child is the most special thing in the universe - not you.)

And then comes a very well-intentioned someone (a friend, your sister in law, a cousin’s wife) and hands you a spreadsheet with all the things you need to buy for the baby. Along with the spreadsheet comes a mountain of unsolicited advice from everywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love a spreadsheet - anyone that worked with me knows that very well. And I did use that said spreadsheet to organize all that stuff with my first born. So, what exactly am I complaining about? Let’s get into it before this gets any more confusing.

My criticism is of the content of those lists and the pressure to believe everything on them is indispensable. That is a huuuuge list of crap you absolutely don’t need. But a lot of well intentioned people will tell you need that stuff in order to keep your baby well and safe, to be a good mother, to survive the first year with a baby, to feel happy and fulfilled. On top of that there are all those influencers on Instagram reinforcing the idea of a perfect motherhood. I feel so lucky to have a mom that loves to simplify everything in life and that doesn’t care about a beautiful picture on Instagram. When I was pregnant, she told me: a baby only needs their mama, diapers and infinite burp cloths. She was so right!

It didn’t matter that my baby didn’t have a perfect nursery when she was born. It mattered that her mother was happy and was focusing on her baby, on recovering from birth and on learning to breastfeed. It didn’t matter that most of her clothes were hand me downs from her cousin. It mattered that she was dressed and warm. (To be completely honest, I preferred the hand me downs because they seemed more soft and comfortable than the new ones.) It didn’t matter that we didn’t used matching outfits when we left the hospital. It mattered that we were well, healthy and we were home. It didn’t matter that all she had was bought at a local store instead of a fancy one. It mattered that she was feeling safe in my arms.

Now hear me out: I am not saying you can’t buy matching outfits for your baby or that beautiful nursery is pointless. All I am saying is don’t feel pressured to buy anything you don’t want to. Listen to your instincts, do your research and then make the decision that will make you feel good. This is your time. This is your baby. Your opinion matters the most - not your mother-in-law’s, not your friend’s, or your neighbor’s.

That being said, of course there are so many things that really make our life easier. I will come back to share what did help me, but that will be a whole new post. I truly hope you are leaving this post feeling a little less pressured. Remember: your baby just needs you (plus diapers, some clothes and lots of burp cloths).

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Babywearing makes life so much easier! Sometimes my baby was fussy and nothing made her feel at ease. Those moments were very stressful. Then I found out that I could put her in the sling and just walk around the house or go outside for a little bit and she would calm down, sometimes she would take naps while being carried. And then I had some “free time” to do some chores or maybe even watch a movie while she was sleeping. She hated her stroller so when I wanted to go outside I had to use any type of carrier. It became natural for me. I always have a carrier in my bag, usually the Chicachila Pocket. (There is a Brazilian brand - Dona Chica Slingueria - that sells a pouch that has a “hidden” buckle carrier and I never leave the house without it. Literally, I have it at all times, it has saved me so many times.)

But I realized that there wasn’t much organized information about it. There are some profiles that I absolutely love and taught me so much about babywearing, but as I’ve mentioned before, I like to have everything organized and I couldn’t find a page like that. If you want to find something specific, you have to search on those profiles and pray that you find what you are looking for (because that’s how social media works). So I created an instagram profile and my goal was to post some info about babywearing but, being a person who doesn’t feel comfortable with the social media spotlight, I did my inicial posts but never updated the profile and it’s now full of cobwebs. But now I have my own page and will post more on babywearing, the types of carriers that exist and how to wear them safely.

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So now I stay at home with the kids while my partner goes to work. In Brazil, when I was bored or overwhelmed, I could play the grandparents card and go to their house so I could talk to other adults and eat a snack in peace while they were pampering the kids. Now I’m trying to figure out how to take care of the kids while trying to keep the house clean (maybe livable?) while trying to find moments of joy in the chaos of motherhood.

I love to plan and organize a lot. (And I am very good at that, you need to see my spreadsheets.) But lately not only don’t I have the time to do it but I also don’t have the mental space to do it. So now I’m trying to embrace the Life Unscripted. Some days are great, some other days are not. On some days I’m the perfect mother, on some days I’m not. Sometimes the house is tidy, but most of the time it is so messy.

Then I decided to do something for myself and write about my journey: I lived 2 beautiful pregnancies, have really cool birth stories, I like to meal prep, I have tons of recipes for snacks, I created all the decoration for my daughter’s 2nd birthday party using mostly cardboard, I traveled to Australia with a 1 year old while pregnant, then moved to Germany with 2 kids… some experiences to share. Or at least I will bring everything together in one place.

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