Beyond the Fourth Trimester: Why I Became a Mother’s Helper
“I need someone who does what you do, but for mums who have older kids. Your visits were the highlight of my whole postpartum journey!”
That’s what Stacey messaged, over a year after I’d supported her through her fourth trimester. She was looking for a housekeeper; someone who did a bit of everything. But when I suggested I take the role, I think it clicked - what she was looking for was someone who understood the invisible work of motherhood. Someone who could roll up their sleeves and help her restore some order to the chaos, but also someone who could be there in a deeper, more intuitive way.
At the time, my husband was out of work, and I hadn’t planned on extending my postpartum doula offerings into general home support. But something about the timing felt serendipitous. I offered to help. And I’m so glad I did.
What began as kind of a favour for both of us, became something much more meaningful. That job with Stacey was the start of my work as a Mother’s Helper. A new, natural evolution of what I already love doing: holding mothers in the thick of it.
From the Fourth Trimester and Beyond
As a postpartum doula, my work has always been about meeting mothers where they are—tired, healing, stretched, becoming. I’ve spent years walking beside women as they navigate newborn life, offering warm meals, a listening ear, a few loads of laundry done quietly in the background. It’s work I love deeply. But the truth is, the need doesn’t stop when the baby grows. It evolves, like we do.
The mothers I’ve supported often reach out to me later—sometimes years later. They still need help. They still want someone who gets it, who knows what it feels like to live in a body that is constantly moving, giving, bending to meet the needs of everyone else in the house.
I always knew this need existed. I’m a mother myself. I’ve lived through the frustration of trying to play toy cars with a toddler while feeling crumbs under my thighs. And trying to avert my eyes from ‘mount wash-ington’, just begging to be folded and packed away. Torn between presence and productivity. It’s an impossible tension, and one that most mothers quietly endure every single day.
For a long time, I thought I had to choose: be a doula or end up as something else. I worried that if I expanded my services I’d just become just a cleaner or babysitter, labels that don't quite capture the emotional labour I offer. But now, I see the beauty in being able to do both—and the real power in embracing that middle ground.
“The Room of Shame” and the Joy of Getting Stuck In
One of the first things I did for Stacey was organise her children’s toys. They’d become scattered throughout the house, jumbled and incomplete. I gathered them all up, sorted them into categories, and created a simple toy rotation system so I could easily make different toys available for her boys each week. I made bliss balls from all the unused pantry bits—those random jars of chia and sunflower seeds that always end up gathering dust. And of course I cleaned - but not the once-over that is all we have time for as mums. Instead I focused on the nooks and crannies that go to the bottom of the list month after month when we’re busy with kids. And I loved it.
There’s something so satisfying about cleaning someone else’s house. It’s not just the novelty of a different space—it’s the purpose. It’s the knowing that what I’m doing is helping someone breathe a little easier. That when they walk into that room, it won’t be another demand on their time and attention, but a small moment of calm.
In my own home, we have what I call “the room of shame”—the place where everything gets dumped in a hurry. It only takes a few days before we can’t walk through it. Most families I work with have a version of that room. Another client calls her linen cupboard the ‘cupboard of doom.’ There’s no shame in it, truly. It’s just what happens when you’re living at full capacity and there’s no one to help carry the load.
A Typical Day as a Mother’s Helper
My work varies from home to home, but most often, I’m doing one or more of the following:
Cleaning the parts of the house that have been nagging at the mother’s brain, or have fallen to the bottom of the list for too long.
Organising: toy storage, kids’ clothes, kitchen pantries, art supplies.
Sorting through outgrown baby and toddler clothes, setting aside what to donate or store.
Putting systems in place that make everyday life flow a little more easily.
Cooking lunch or dinner for the family—or meal prepping for the week ahead.
Offering quiet companionship while I work—chatting, listening, sometimes just sharing the same space so mum doesn’t feel alone in the chaos.
Holding babies, chatting with toddlers, and including them in the tasks.
And then there are the little gestures that can feel especially meaningful. Like gathering all the missing pieces of a car track scattered around a client’s house and setting it up in the living room so when the kids returned home from school pick-up they would have an activity waiting for them. It wasn’t complicated, but it was thoughtful. Intentional. Loving.
Companionship Matters Too
One thing that surprises people is how much of my work is social. I don’t mean small talk—I mean the kind of conversations that unfold when a mother can finally stop and take a breath. When there’s someone else in the house who is on her side, not needing anything from her, just holding space while she moves in and out of the room.
Some mums love a chat. Others are quiet, just grateful for another adult in the space. There is comfort in being together without having to perform. I never expect a mother to prepare before I arrive. I’m not afraid of anyone’s “room of shame.” This work fills me up, too.
Why I Stay Beyond Year One
What I’ve come to realise is this: every mother needs more support than she’s getting. Even the ones who are well-resourced, with helpful partners or flexible jobs or supportive parents nearby—they still need more. Because modern motherhood can feel brutal. We’ve been tricked into thinking we should be capable of maintaining a clean home, feeding our children wholesome food, nourishing our relationships, pursuing meaningful work, and somehow also preserving our own wellbeing - all at once!
The truth is, it’s not possible. Something will always suffer. And for most mothers, the thing that suffers first is themselves.
Until our culture starts valuing mothering for the essential work it is—financially, emotionally, structurally—we need to build our own scaffolding. Our own villages. And yes, sometimes that means paying for the help that should be more freely available. That’s a hard truth to swallow, but it’s also liberating. Because it means we don’t have to wait for permission. We can start creating that village now.
This Is Still Doula Work
When I walk into a mother’s home—whether there’s a newborn or a preschooler or a ten-year-old—I come with the same heart. I’m there to support her. To see what she’s carrying and offer to carry some of it with her, even just for a few hours.
Being a Mother’s Helper is an extension of my doula work. It’s an acknowledgment that the load doesn’t lift after twelve weeks. If anything, it grows.
So I’ll keep showing up. With my hands ready, my ears open, and no fear of anyone’s crumbs, mess, or overwhelm. Because this is what I do: I mother the mothers. However, and whenever they need it.
Interested in booking a Mother’s Helper visit?
I offer casual 3-hour visits starting at $200, available to mothers of all ages and stages. And if you’re after regular support, let’s chat! Whether you need help folding laundry, sorting the pantry, or just someone to listen while you exhale—I'm here.
Let’s build the village you deserve.
