What is the realistic amount of time I could get for myself during the week as a new mom?

Question from Shira M., 34, Nova Scotia, Canada. Mom to a 3-month-old baby boy, Logan.

Shira's partner works long shifts as a firefighter, and she’s navigating most of the newborn phase solo during the week. Between feedings, cluster naps, and trying to shower once every three days, she’s wondering if real “me time” even exists—or if it’s just something people with nannies write about on blogs.

Mama, 

I remember reading those soft-life mom blogs about bubble baths, yoga retreats, and taking "a few hours to reconnect with myself"… while I was over here hoping to just pee without someone screaming.

I used to get irrationally angry when I saw moms on Instagram doing pottery or sipping lavender tea while their babies napped peacefully. Like, what magical unicorn babies do they have? And who’s folding their laundry while they make mugs?

When my twins were newborns, I kept waiting for this mythical moment of “me time” to appear. You know, the kind where I’d exhale, light a candle, and hear myself think. But every time there was a break in the chaos, I’d feel too guilty to take it. Or too exhausted to enjoy it. And honestly? Sometimes I didn’t even know what to do with myself when I had 20 whole uninterrupted minutes.

I was so used to pouring out, I’d forgotten how to pour into.

So here's my real, un-glossy answer: as a new mom, your “me time” might not look like hours away or a full Sunday off. At least not right now. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there—or that it doesn’t count.

For me, realistic looked like:

• Sitting in my parked car with a drive-thru coffee and zero expectations.
• Walking alone around the block just once while my husband held down the fort.
  
• Listening to a podcast while folding laundry just to feel human again.
• Saying “no” to visitors when what I really needed was silence and stretchy pants.

Some weeks, that was all I got. But even those tiny moments gave me slivers of myself back.

You’re not failing because you don’t have a spa day scheduled. You’re surviving. You’re mothering. You’re finding your rhythm in the ruins of who you used to be. That’s more than enough.

And hey—this stage won’t last forever. But your right to take up space, to breathe, to enjoy things that don’t revolve around diapers or feeding schedules? That right lasts your whole damn life.

You don’t need more time to be a good mom. You need the permission to take the tiny moments that are already there—and claim them like they matter. Because they do.

Love,
Lina P.