#1 Tip to Surviving Postpartum: Paper Plates.

By Katie Douglas, Wild Wonders Doula.

#1 Tip to Surviving Postpartum: Paper Plates.

Yes. I said it. Paper plates.

Not a fancy white noise machine. Not a sleep consultant. Not a $400 bassinet that rocks your baby while you Google "how to feel normal again."

No, the unsung hero of postpartum survival is that disposable disc of freedom.

Here’s why:

When you’re deep in the trenches of postpartum — healing, feeding, barely functioning — every tiny task feels like a mountain. And dishes? Dishes feel like Everest. The sink fills up faster than your baby’s diaper, and suddenly you’re drowning in plates and guilt.

Paper plates aren’t lazy. They’re lifesaving. They eliminate one thing from your already overwhelmed brain. One less thing to wash, dry, put away. One less pile staring at you like a judgmental houseguest. One more small win in a day where small wins matter so much. Plus, they don't make you lazy; double plus, they're also great playthings, art projects, and more!

This Isn’t About the Plates

It’s about giving yourself permission to let things be easy — even if it’s just dinner.

It’s about recognizing that this is a season of restoration, not performance. You’re not being graded. There is no postpartum gold star for scrubbing pots at 1 AM with a crying baby strapped to your chest.

Let go of the idea that everything has to look put-together. Choose ease. Choose grace. Choose the paper plates.

Real-Life Paper Plate Magic

• Serve up a snack tray on one and suddenly you’ve got a fancy postpartum charcuterie board.

• Let older kids decorate them — boom, you just bought yourself 15 minutes of peace.

• Stack them by your bedside with granola bars or fruit — midnight snack, no cleanup.

• Use them to sort baby stuff into stations: meds, pump parts, pacis. Organized chaos, contained.

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You Are Doing Enough

If today all you managed was feeding the baby and tossing food on a paper plate — I am so proud of you.

Let’s stop idolizing burnout and start honoring survival. Let’s normalize not having it all together. Let’s high-five the mamas with a trash bag full of takeout containers and enough grace to say: “This is good enough. I am good enough.”

So go ahead. Use the dang paper plates.

You’ve got more important things to do — like healing, bonding, crying when you need to, and remembering that this hard, beautiful, messy season won’t last forever.

But until then?

But What About the Planet?

Let’s address the eco elephant in the room.

Yes, we care about the Earth. No, this isn’t forever. Yes, you can buy compostable or recycled options. No, your mental health does not get sacrificed for a dish-free sink.

Sustainability includes you.

And listen — I get it. I remember standing in the grocery store aisle, grabbing toilet paper, when I saw the paper plates. They practically whispered to me:

And I whispered back, “Yeah, probably. But you’re expensive. And it's harmful and wasteful, and I'm not lazy!"

Then came the PTSD-like flashes of my kitchen back home:

The mountain of dishes in the sink.

The counters cluttered with baby bottles and breast pump parts.

The dried food on last night’s dinner plates because I “just needed to rest for a second” and never came back.

Suddenly realizing how my evening is going to go....

Go home.

Unload groceries.

Feed the baby.

Put groceries away.

Wash dishes.

Feed the baby again.

Change the baby.

Then cook dinner.

Eat it fast so I could… feed the baby again.

And just like that — another night’s worth of dishes would be waiting for me in the sink.

Right there in that grocery aisle, I made the decision: I bought the plates.

The bowls.

The cups.

Paper towels.

Plastic forks and spoons.

Did I cringe a little? Sure.

But did I survive that week a little easier? Absolutely.

Sometimes postpartum survival looks like saying: “This is hard, and I’m going to give myself a break where I can.” Paper plates don’t make you a bad person. They don’t undo all the years you spent separating your recycling. They mean you're putting your oxygen mask on first — even if it's made of recyclable pulp fiber.

Next time you're googling how to survive postpartum, postpartum mood disorders, or why you don't feel like yourself, use this postpartum permission slip. Print it out, screenshot it, whatever you have to do.

✨ Your Postpartum Permission Slip ✨

You officially have permission to:

✅ Use paper plates, plastic forks, and pre-cut fruit without guilt.

✅ Let the dishes sit. Let the laundry pile. Let the microwave do the cooking.

✅ Choose rest over routine.

✅ Say “this is enough” when you've done the bare minimum.

✅ Ask for help — even if it feels awkward or uncomfortable.

✅ Cry in the shower. Or the car. Or over a granola bar at 3AM.

✅ Let the environment take the hit this week — you are not waste.

✅ Be tender with yourself, even when the world expects you to “bounce back.”

✅ Survive first. Heal second. Thrive later.

✅ Love your baby and also need space from your baby — at the same time.

✅ Lower the bar to “alive, fed, and kind of upright.”

✅ Laugh at the chaos. Curse at it too.

✅ Buy the damn paper plates.

Signed,

The version of you that knows you’re doing your best. 💛