A Baby Is Born. A Mother Is Too. So Why Do We Forget Her?

There is a peculiar sleight of hand that happens after a woman gives birth. For nine months, she is the centre of attention. Strangers hold doors open. Healthcare professionals monitor her blood pressure, glucose levels and baby's growth with forensic precision. Family members ask how she's sleeping, whether she's craving anything unusual, whether the nursery is ready etc etc...

Then the baby arrives.

And then in some cases it can feel like she disappears, overnight.

The first question shifts from "How are you feeling?" to "Is the baby sleeping through?" Visitors arrive bearing gifts in newborn sizes. There are endless conversations about feeding schedules, developmental milestones and whether the baby resembles mum or dad. Meanwhile, the woman who has undergone one of the most significant physiological and psychological transitions of her life is often left navigating recovery in the background.

We have become remarkably sophisticated at preparing women for childbirth. Less so at preparing them for what comes after.

The "fourth trimester" - the first 12 weeks following birth - has increasingly entered the parenting lexicon, but culturally, it remains something of a blind spot. It is a period marked not only by profound joy, but also by identity shifts, hormonal fluctuations, physical healing and, for many women, an overwhelming sense of isolation.

The statistics tell a sobering story. Around one in five women in the UK experiences a mental health problem during pregnancy or within the first year after birth, making perinatal mental illness one of the most common complications of pregnancy. Yet despite its prevalence, maternal mental health often remains under-recognised and under-supported.

The irony is difficult to ignore. If one in five women developed a serious physical complication after birth, there would be national outrage. Instead, emotional distress is frequently dismissed as an unfortunate but inevitable part of becoming a mother. Exhaustion is expected. Overwhelm is normalised. Anxiety is reframed as maternal instinct.

Women are expected to emerge from childbirth transformed but unchanged: devoted mothers, attentive partners, productive employees and socially engaged friends. All while recovering from birth, adapting to chronic sleep deprivation and caring for a completely dependent human being.

Anthropologists have long noted that many traditional cultures recognise the postpartum period as a distinct phase requiring dedicated care. In parts of Latin America, the practice of la cuarentena encourages 40 days of rest and support. In China, zuò yuè zi, or "sitting the month", prioritises maternal recovery through community care and nourishment. The underlying principle is simple: when a baby is born, a mother requires tending to as well.

Modern Western motherhood, by contrast, often celebrates resilience over restoration. The "bounce-back" narrative persists, repackaged through social media as women return to exercise classes six weeks postpartum, announce business launches while on maternity leave, or curate aesthetically pleasing glimpses into newborn life. Rarely do we see the realities: the pelvic floor physiotherapy appointments, the intrusive thoughts that accompany postpartum anxiety, the loneliness of endless night feeds or the grief some women experience for the version of themselves they have left behind.

This silence matters because the transition to motherhood is not simply logistical; it is existential.

Psychologists refer to the process as matrescence - the developmental shift a woman undergoes as she becomes a mother. Much like adolescence, it involves biological, emotional and social transformation. Yet while adolescence is widely recognised as a period deserving patience and support, matrescence remains largely misunderstood.

Perhaps this explains why so many women describe feeling forgotten.

Not because they love their babies any less, but because somewhere amid the celebration of new life, their own wellbeing becomes secondary. Their needs become negotiable. Their suffering becomes invisible.

The fourth trimester should not be treated as an epilogue to pregnancy. It is a chapter in its own right.

What if, instead of asking new mothers whether the baby is sleeping, we asked how they are sleeping? What if postpartum care extended beyond a single six-week check-up? What if meal trains were considered as essential as baby showers? What if recovery was viewed not as indulgence, but as healthcare?

The conversation around motherhood has evolved considerably over the past decade. Women are speaking more openly about birth trauma, pelvic health and postpartum mental illness. But awareness alone is not enough.

The challenge now is cultural: to recognise that caring for mothers is not ancillary to caring for babies. It is fundamental to it.

Because the fourth trimester isn't simply about keeping a newborn alive.

It's about ensuring the woman who brought that child into the world doesn't disappear in the process.