Becoming Mama

December 2018

With her daughter nursing in her arms, Macy uses her elbow to push down on the door handle and open the door into the conference room, careful not to bump little Isla’s head as she does. Her diaper bag is slung over her shoulder, bouncing against her legs as she walks, and her daughter’s car seat is hooked around her other arm.

“You’re getting good at that,” says Elena, one of Macy’s closest friends at the mom group, clearly amused by Macy’s multi-tasking skills.

Macy nods a hello at her friend before settling into a spot on the floor next to her and her son, Max. “She slept in this morning, which was awesome, but we didn’t have time for a feed before we left.” Isla still in her arms, Macy reaches into her diaper bag and produces a small pink linen blanket. As she lies it down just inches from Max’s blanket – he is lying on this back, happily inspecting a ribbed ball in his hands – Macy leans over to him and offers a big smile. “Hi, Max,” she says, her voice going up an octave. “How are you, cutie pie?” Max returns the smile and kicks his feet up, touching the ball with his toes. Isla releases Macy’s breast at the sound of her mother’s rising voice, sees Max, and arches away from Macy. “Oh! You want to play with Max?” She sets Isla down upright facing Max. Her voice returning to regular pitch, she asks Elena, “And how’s your morning?”

Before Elena can answer, Cindy, the group leader, enters the room. “Sorry, sorry, I’m late!” Her smile beams from ear to ear as she waves her hands excitedly at all the woman and their infants who have formed a circle on the floor of Room 107. They all respond with a “Hi, Cindy!” She begins by reminding all of them to write their names on the sign-in sheet and points out the infant scale stationed on the counter for anyone who is interested in checking their child’s weight; then, she dives into some announcements about the optional, but encouraged, $5 donation for attending this mom group, and briefly touches on other seasonal charity opportunities that are in effect now that the holidays are among them.

Grabbing a chair from a stack in the corner of the room, she sets it down and takes a seat. “Now, that the administrative stuff is out of the way…welcome! If you’re new here, I’m Cindy. I’ve been a midwife for over 20 years, and a family therapist for over 10. I’ve been leading this group for 5 years now, and it is one of the things I look forward to most every week. This group is a safe space for all mothers going through their postpartum journey. We’ll go around the circle, and give everyone a chance to speak – if you so choose, though, we would all really like to hear from you. You’ll give us your name, your child’s name and age, and then you can tell us a little bit about what’s going on in your life right now. What’s going good, what’s not going good, or just whatever you want to share. We’re all here to listen and share ideas with each other, and just offer support however we can.” Cindy pauses a moment and looks around the room, making eye contact with several of the mothers, before landing on the woman closest to her on the left. “Hi. Would you like to start us off?”

The woman, who Macy guesses is in her mid-thirties, looks stunned and very obviously nervous. Her long black hair is tied in a loose, untidy ponytail, and she appears to still be wearing her pajamas. “Oh, um, okay, sure. Yeah. Um, I’m Bree, I’m new here. This is my first time at one of these things. My, uh, my doctor recommended it to me, so I’m just trying it –”

Bree is interrupted by a loud squeal from within the car seat next to her, and she jumps. Anxiously, she races to undo the straps and take her baby out, shh-ing her as she works.

Completely unphased, Cindy smiles and says, “And who is this little one?”

Bree is holding her baby against her shoulder now, patting its back, bouncing her body, and hushing, willing her baby to settle down. “Oh, uh, yeah, this is my daughter, Eris. She’s just two weeks old, and, um –“ This time, Bree is interrupted by her own tears. “I’m sorry, this is, this is just...this has just been, um, really hard for me, this whole mother thing, and, um, I don’t really know –” Eris screams louder, and Bree stops talking and sobs more between her shh-ing. She tries bouncing and swaying quicker. When that doesn’t work, she lies Eris down on her blanket and reaches for one of her toys, a soft crinkling cube with an elephant imprinted on it, and jingles it above her daughter. Eris quiets down, kicks her little legs. “Sorry,” is all Bree manages through her sniffling, clearly defeated.

The room of woman is nearly silent, except for small intermittent infant cooing and squealing. All of the moms are focused on Bree and Eris, without judgment. No one says anything, but the energy seems to offer Bree a hug, whispering: We know it’s hard. We’re here for you.

Bree sniffles some more, wiping her nose. When she realizes the room is waiting for her, she says, “We’re not really sleeping right now.” Heads around the room nod: every woman there knows what that is like. Bree continues, “My husband, he’s working for a start up, so he’s just not able to help out as much as I thought he would, so… it’s mostly me at night, right now…” She breaks down into an uncontrollable sob. The woman next to her offers a tissue. Bree takes it, blows her nose, and rubs a hand on her daughter’s belly, collecting herself. “This is just way harder than I ever thought it would be.”

*

When the meeting is over, Macy says goodbye to Elena and Max; she packs up Isla in her car seat and runs out into the parking lot.

“Bree! Bree! Wait up!”

Bree is slowly walking to her car, holding her car seat carefully in both hands, unlike Macy who has hers casually slung around her arm. She turns around and looks confused, as if she’s left something behind. “Uh, yeah?”

“Hey! Uh, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Macy, and this is my daughter, Isla,” she turns the car seat towards Bree; Isla giggles and kicks her feet. Bree smiles shyly. “Your daughter’s name is Eris, right? I miss when Isla was that little; they’re so precious at that age.” Bree nods, looking down at her sleeping infant daughter and laughs nervously, the way someone laughs when they get a compliment they don’t agree with. “Anyway, I just wanted to say I really related to what you said back there. The first few months of motherhood are really, really hard. There’s like some sort of learning curve to reading your baby that, for some reason, a lifetime of mothers have failed to make common knowledge. I can’t tell you how long it took me to realize that Isla was crying every time we were here just because she needed a nap. I always assumed she was hungry, but once I learned the difference between her hunger cues and her tired cues, things got a lot easier. And don’t even get me started on how long it took me to realize she had a dairy allergy – whew!” Macy laughs, trying to lighten the slightly awkward exchange.

Bree chuckles politely, but she looks exhausted and miserable. All she says is, “Yeah.”

“Look, I know 7 months seems like a world of difference between our two girls right now, but when they’re older, none of us will be able to tell the difference. So, let me give you my number, and if you want to get together for a play date sometime, or even just to talk or whatever…” Macy reaches down into her bag to grab out something to write on. Retrieving a crumpled-up flyer that’s been in her bag for who knows how long, she jots down her phone number and hands it to Bree. “Call me anytime. Seriously.”

***

May 2018

Macy buckles her daughter’s car seat straps and kisses her small forehead. “You ready, baby girl?”

Isla’s dark eyes look up at her, and Macy can’t help but think she looks confused. Does she even know what’s going on? The realization that she is entirely in charge of this small person’s life crashes down on her. She is supposed to be the one who is ready. She is the one who is supposed to know what’s going on.

Macy double checks her diaper bag to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. It is her first solo trip out of the house with her daughter, and she is anxious that she isn’t prepared enough. Her husband, Fisher, wraps his arms around her. “You’re going to be fine, Macy. It’s not like you’re going very far.”

She turns around and hugs him tightly, wishing he could attend the mom group, too. “I know,” she says.

He presses her away with his hands on her shoulders and says lovingly, “You need this. Now, go. It’s only an hour.”

Macy tries to avoid traffic by taking the back roads to the hospital where the meeting is held, but has no such luck. She’s sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on a two lane road with nowhere to escape when Isla starts shrieking in her car seat.

Macy jumps. Anxiety as intoxicating as alcohol, Macy’s mind is assaulted with panic and worry: Is her car seat on wrong? Is she choking? Is she hungry? I just fed her, there’s no way she can be hungry again, right? Is she pooping? Does she have a rash?  “Oh, baby, what’s wrong? Don’t cry! Mama’s here, shhh, shhh, shhh!” She tries to reach a hand back behind her to make contact with her daughter, but her arm isn’t long enough. Isla begins screaming even louder.

Up ahead, there is a traffic light and a bank to the left of it. As soon as the cars move forward enough, Macy pulls into the parking lot and gets out of the car. She opens the door, eager to be face-to-face with her daughter. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here! What’s wrong? What do you need? What can I do?” As if her voice goes unnoticed, Isla’s face remains contorted by her sobbing distress. “Just tell me what you need. Boob? Diaper change? Is the seatbelt bugging you?” Macy pleads for some answers, but her infant gives her none. Just more screaming.

Macy’s anxiety skyrockets. Her hands race to undo the car seat buckles, aching to hold her daughter and make her better, even though she has no idea how to do that. She cradles her screeching child, and tries rocking her, mortified by the fact that she is doing this publicly for the first time, worrying that strangers will judge her as an unfit mother. She considers texting Fisher that she’s not going to the stupid mom group, but the very fear that is urging her to skip it is the exact reason why she needs to go.

I need to do this, she reminds herself. For Isla.

She decides it’s best she tests out some of her guesses since that’s all she has with a small human who can’t tell her what she needs. She opens up the back trunk of her car, and lay her daughter on her back, making Isla screech even louder. “I’m just going to check your diaper. It’s okay, baby. I’ll be quick.”

The diaper is dry. She zips her onesie back up. “Okay, so maybe you’re hungry?” Macy closes the trunk and opens up the cab of her car, taking a seat next to Isla’s car seat. Isla nurses for a few minutes before she releases. “Was that it? You were just hungry?” Isla’s eyes dart around the car, and Macy can’t help but think she’s scared. She hates the feeling that her daughter might be scared around her, but she also understands. I’m scared, too, baby girl.

Macy sets Isla back up in the car and gets back in traffic, determined to make it to this mom meeting. Isla cries more off and on as they drive, and so does Macy; she calls back to Isla, assuring her that she’s safe, but deep down, she feels like her words are empty, like Isla has no idea what she's saying. She keeps yelling, “Mama’s here! Mama’s here! I love you. You’re safe!” None of her attempts seem to help.

When Macy and Isla finally make it to the mom group, they’re late. In the parking lot, Macy considers calling it a victory just making it there, but now that Isla has quieted down, she decides it’s worth going in to catch the end of it.

In Room 107, there is a circle of woman sitting on the floor with their infants. When Macy walks in with Isla still in her car seat, everyone turns to look at them, offering weak but genuine smiles. There is a woman sitting on a chair in the front of the room who gestures to an empty gap in the circle, indicating a space for her to join them. Macy sets her car seat down, and internally curses at herself for forgetting her diaper bag in the car; she doesn’t have a blanket to lie flat, and she hopes and prays Isla won’t need a diaper change while they are there.

When the woman next to Macy finishes talking, Macy immediately feels the gaze of the entire room shift slightly onto her. It is a strange feeling to have silence so tangibly directed at her, and she can’t help but think everyone can sense her anxiety radiating out of her pounding chest.

“Uh, hi, I’m, uh, Macy. It’s my first time here,” she says, her voice immediately trembling. She feels her face and chest turning crimson. Isla stirs in her car seat, and just the sound of her brings everything rushing to the surface. Macy sobs with abandon. “I just wish she would stop crying. I just wish I knew what she wanted.”

***

July 2018

Macy looks at the text from her husband: Going to the mom group today?

Macy rolls her eyes at the idea. No way.

Isla is shrieking in Macy’s arms. Macy is pacing back and forth, bouncing her daughter, willing her to stop crying. “What? What do you want? Please, tell me what you want, Isla!” She begs, exhaustedly.

No one slept that night, and Macy has no idea how she is going to make it through this day while Fisher is at work, hence why she is skipping the mom group. She’d been going for a few weeks now, despite how chaotic it has been. While it’s been nice to be surrounded by so many women who are going through the same thing, Isla has spent every single meeting crying, and Macy has spent every meeting doing everything she can to try to settle her down, without success. It was actually embarrassing: she was becoming known as the mother of the screaming child. And while no one would outwardly judge her, Macy began wondering if the meetings were helping her at all or if they were making her more self-conscious about her mothering abilities. Regardless, she does not have the energy to deal with any of it today. Therefore, they are staying home.

“Isla,” she groans, bouncing more fervently now. Even at two months old, Macy still found it hard to tell what Isla wanted. She goes through the checklist of possibilities: It isn’t naptime yet. She just ate. Her diaper is dry.

Macy’s legs are becoming more tired, so she takes refuge in their rocking chair in the living room. Settling in, she instantly finds a steady, soothing rhythm, and decides to at least try offering Isla more milk.

Isla latches quickly, and Macy, though annoyed that the solution was so simple, is also relieved to both be sitting and granted a moment without screaming. She leans her head back against the chair, and inhales as her baby drinks. Then, she feels her daughter detach. She prepares for a loud wail, but there isn’t one.

Macy looks down at her daughter and is surprised to see that Isla is looking up at Macy with something in her eyes that resembles….recognition. “You were just hungry, is that all?” Macy laughs softly, running a finger across her tiny lips, feeling silly for having been so frustrated.

Then, Isla does something Macy has yet to see in her infant. Reaching her tiny hand up to Macy, Isla’s lips part, creasing upwards into a smile. Macy pauses, unsure of what is happening – she has only ever seen her daughter smile in her sleep, “milk drunk” after a full serving of breast milk. Then, an audible coo leaves Isla’s mouth, startling Macy all the more.

“Oh!” Macy is speechless by her daughter’s first seemingly directed and intentional sound.

Isla coos again, smiling wider than before.

“Ooooh,” Macy returns her daughter’s coo. “Hi, there, Isla, it’s me, Mama. Maaa – maaa,” she breaks up the word distinctly, drawing out the short “a” sound.

Isla’s eyes brighten with recognition. “Mmmmm,” she coos up at Macy, and then, “aaaaaahhhhh”, as she grips Macy’s chin.

Macy’s heart bursts at her daughter's first hello. “Mmmm, that’s right. Mama. It’s Mama, I’m Mama. Hi, baby.”