Gisele Bundchen Baby News and Pregnancy Over 40 Guilt

It was a Tuesday, I was wearing yoga pants with an unidentifiable yogurt stain on the left knee, standing in the aisle at Target staring blankly at diaper cream when three different people gave me completely contradicting advice about having a newborn in the span of, like, four hours. My mother had called earlier to say I should just sleep when the infant sleeps (ha, okay sure, I'll also do laundry when the baby does laundry), my neighbor Linda cornered me at the mailbox to warn me that if I didn't schedule sleep training by week two I'd ruin my child's life forever, and then the checkout lady at Target told me to cherish every single second because it goes so fast. I wanted to scream right there by the chewing gum. You literally can't do all three of those things. Anyway, the point is, everybody has an opinion about how you do this motherhood thing, and seeing the recent news about the Gisele Bündchen baby situation really triggered all my deeply buried anxieties about pregnancy, getting older, and that soul-crushing mom guilt.

The absolute mind trip of the fourth trimester

Gisele actually wrote in her memoir a while back that when she became a mom, she felt like she lost herself, like a part of her died. I remember reading that and spilling my lukewarm coffee all over my kitchen counter because OH MY GOD, YES. A supermodel with endless resources felt exactly the same way I did sitting in my messy living room in 2020. I remember holding Leo, who was screaming because he hated being swaddled, and crying to my husband Dave that I didn't know who I was anymore. I wasn't Sarah the writer, I was just a tired milk machine in a stained nursing bra.

My doctor, Dr. Miller, kind of patted my knee at our two-week checkup and said the hormonal crash is basically a massive identity crisis mixed with sleep deprivation, which made me feel marginally less insane. It's biological, I guess? Though honestly I still don't fully understand the science of it, I just know it feels like drowning in your own house while everyone tells you how lucky you're. You're supposed to mourn your old life without feeling like a monster, but instead of forcing yourself to bounce back and pretend everything is fine and schedule coffee dates, you really just need to let the house get messy and cry in the shower.

Speaking of Leo screaming, part of my whole fourth-trimester meltdown was that he had these weird red patches all over his back. I was convinced I was somehow poisoning him with my laundry detergent. We went through six different brands of clothes before I finally just bought the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Sleeveless Infant Onesie from Kianao. I'm not usually someone who preaches about organic everything—I literally let Maya eat dirt at the park yesterday because I was too tired to stop her—but this thing actually saved my sanity. It's so stupidly soft, and because it's sleeveless, I could layer it under his sleep sacks without him overheating and breaking out in more rashes. Plus, it has those stretchy envelope shoulders so when he had a massive blowout (which was daily, because breastmilk poops are aggressive), I could pull the whole thing down over his body instead of dragging poop over his face. The literal dream. Get five of them. You'll thank me when it's 3 AM and you're covered in bodily fluids.

My beef with the geriatric pregnancy label

So Gisele is 44 and expecting her third child, which brings me to the whole age thing. I had Maya when I was 31, but by the time I was pregnant with Leo I was pushing 36, and suddenly all my medical charts had this horrifying term plastered on them in bright red letters: Geriatric. I'm sorry, do I need a walker to get to the delivery room? The way my doctor explained it—or at least how I remember it through the fog of relentless morning sickness—is that after 35, your eggs are basically considered vintage.

Dr. Miller made me sit down and listed all the things that suddenly become bigger risks when you're older, which was terrifying but also just deeply annoying.

He said the chances of getting pregnant naturally just plummet, like down to 5 percent a month or something wild.
We had to do a ton of extra blood pressure checks because apparently your body just gets mad at you for being pregnant in your late thirties.
I had to do early genetic screening and drink that awful sugary orange drink twice to check for gestational diabetes.

I spent my whole pregnancy with Leo worrying I was too old to keep up with a toddler, and Dave just kept reminding me that I'm fueled entirely by cold brew so I'll be fine. But the anxiety was real. Because I was older, I felt this intense, crushing pressure to do everything perfectly, right down to the toys I bought.

I got the Wooden Baby Gym with the Animal Toys because it looks beautiful in the living room and it's made of sustainable wood and doesn't play that god-awful electronic music that makes me want to throw things out a window. And listen, it's really pretty. The little fabric elephant is cute. But if I'm being brutally honest? Leo stared at it for maybe ten minutes a day, max. Mostly he just wanted to chew on the cardboard box it came in. It's great if you want your nursery to look like a minimalist Pinterest board—and it definitely stopped my mother-in-law from buying us more plastic light-up monstrosities—but don't expect it to magically entertain a four-month-old for hours while you wash your hair. It buys you exactly enough time to brush your teeth and maybe apply deodorant.

If you're currently in the trenches of trying to find things that won't irritate your kid's skin or make your house look like a primary-colored plastic factory exploded, check out the Kianao baby collection here. It's mostly just really good organic stuff that actually holds up in the wash.

Birth plans are mostly just suggestions anyway

So apparently Gisele is planning a home birth, which, wow. I'm deeply in awe of women who do this. I wanted a serene, unmedicated water birth with Maya. I had a whole playlist of acoustic indie folk songs and a diffuser packed with lavender oil ready to go. Cut to me 22 hours into labor, screaming at Dave that he ruined my life, begging the anesthesiologist for an epidural while Enya played mockingly in the background. My doctor told me later that home births are really only safe if you've zero complications and a midwife who can sprint you to a hospital if things go sideways. I get the appeal of being in your own bed, I really do, but for me, I needed the comforting beep of hospital machines and the knowledge that there was a cafeteria downstairs with decent french fries.

I still tried to do the whole natural approach where I could later on, though. That's exactly why I ended up buying the Panda Teether Silicone Bamboo Chew Toy when Maya was teething. She was six months old and literally gnawing on my germ-infested house keys in the grocery store line while people judged me. I panicked, bought this silicone panda thing because it's food-grade and doesn't have any of the weird chemical crap in it, and it became the only thing that would stop her from screaming in the car. I used to stick it in the fridge for ten minutes while I chugged my morning coffee, and the cold silicone was basically magic on her swollen gums.

I just really need to talk about how insane the pressure is to bounce back after you've these babies. Gisele looks like a literal goddess, but she's a supermodel, okay? Her job is her body. The rest of us are out here wearing maternity leggings eight months postpartum because regular pants are a prison constructed by the patriarchy. When people tell you to enjoy every moment, they're lying to your face. You don't have to enjoy the moment your kid throws up in your mouth or when they refuse to nap for three days straight. You just don't.

We tried sleep training for one night, I cried way more than the kid did, so we stopped and never tried again.

Anyway, I think the biggest thing I've learned, whether you're having a kid at 25 or 44, is that we're all just winging it in the dark. I spent so much time with Maya trying to dress her in perfectly coordinated outfits to prove I was a good mom, and by the time Leo came along, I was thrilled if he was wearing something clean. Though I'll admit, I did buy Maya the Flutter Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit for family photos because the little ruffled sleeves completely killed me. It's organic cotton so she didn't break out in a rash, and it stretches enough that I didn't have to wrestle her into it like a tiny, angry alligator. But most days? They're in whatever I pulled from the clean laundry basket that's been sitting in the hallway for a week.

Stop beating yourself up over doing things perfectly or worrying about how old you're. Just get the soft clothes, drink the giant coffee, and survive the day. If you want to grab some of the organic cotton pieces that honestly survived my kids' worst messes, browse Kianao's full shop right here.

Questions I constantly ask myself in the middle of the night

Is mom guilt literally ever going to go away?
Honestly? No. I asked Dr. Miller this once when I was crying over giving Maya formula, and he basically said it just changes shape as they get older. Now instead of feeling guilty about breastfeeding, I feel guilty about how much screen time they get so I can write emails. You just learn to live with the noise in your head and realize that the fact you feel guilty means you genuinely care.

Did the geriatric pregnancy label change how you delivered?
For me, it just meant way more appointments and a lot of anxiety. They monitored me closer toward the end, and my doctor wouldn't let me go past my due date because apparently the placenta gets tired when you're older? I don't know, biology is weird. But the actual delivery was basically the same chaotic mess as my first one.

Are organic baby clothes genuinely worth the extra money?
Listen, I roll my eyes at a lot of crunchy parenting trends, but the clothes thing is real if your kid has sensitive skin. Leo broke out in rashes constantly until we switched to organic cotton without all the chemical dyes. You don't need a massive wardrobe, just a few really good, stretchy bodysuits that won't make them itch.

How do you survive the fourth trimester identity crisis?
You don't fight it, you just ride it out in sweatpants. Drink the coffee. Let your partner do the laundry even if they fold the towels wrong. And realize that the person you were before isn't gone, she's just really, really tired right now and covered in spit-up. She'll come back eventually, probably around the time they sleep through the night.