When my daughter was a newborn, I went to a baby group for new moms every Monday. Each week there would be a different theme and facilitators would ask us about our experiences and encourage us to compare notes on the various trials and tribulations of new motherhood: nap schedules, teething, introducing solids.
I looked forward to it all week and following the session, the stories from the other moms stayed with me–how one woman described her little girl as “baby Jesus” since her pregnancy was so unlikely, another woman expressed disappointment at how her friends responded to her newborn struggles with “but I thought this is what you wanted,” a single mom whose dad flew in from France for her delivery. It was nice to be surrounded by people at the same stage of life, saying things that made so much sense to me but didn’t resonate with my own immediate circle. I also loved that it was on Monday mornings, when it felt like the rest of the world would disappear after the weekend to the “more important” things they had to do while I was home again in a blur of feed, nap, get groceries, change diapers, repeat. If it wasn’t for my baby group routine, every day would run into the next.
Now my daughter is in Kindergarten and I’ve felt a wave of unsettledness come over me again. Not because I need help with the basics of keeping her alive like I did when she was a newborn, but because this is the part of parenthood where everyone told me it would get easier. Now she’s not a little kid anymore, she’s not as exhausting as a toddler or needy as a baby–but I thought I would be closer to my pre-kid self by now. From a practical perspective, she is less dependent on me, but I’ve grown more attached to her, and I don’t want to upset my delicate balance of work and family time by taking on any more “me” things. What’s more, there’s a whole new host of parenting challenges to contend with: fights with friends, the logistics of playdates, whole summers off school, kids pushing in line. Only now, the other moms are all working and don’t have time to sit around for an hour sharing survival tricks.
When my daughter was a newborn, someone told me “It doesn’t get easier, it just gets different.” I was so annoyed by this “advice” that I could have thrown my breast pump in their face. And yet, although many things are easier now, it also seems like every time I find a new routine, something in the mix changes and I’m scrambling to find my stride again.
When I look at parents with small kids, I almost feel like I’m getting off easy. I’m still mom-ing but I don’t need to carry Baby Mum-Mums, a bottle, a change of clothes and a muslin with me all the time. I’m not sleep deprived anymore, only sleepy. Bursting into tears is no longer a regular event. My child is taken care of, for free, most of the workday. It is not as all-encompassing as the early years. And yet, sometimes I still wish a nice public health nurse would call me and say: “There are people who get it, there are people who are waiting to talk to you about after-school snacks and playdate etiquette and whether to make your kid stick with extracurriculars they don’t like. You are not the only one who finds this hard.”
I think of what I loved about that mom group: feeling understood, having people around who were genuinely interested in listening to my parenting troubles, being in an open-minded group of peers, having a routine and something to look forward to. Perhaps the people I’m looking for are at drop-off in the morning or parenting my daughter’s big buddy or doing plies beside me at Barre class. Perhaps I need to recreate this group in a different form–Baby Group 2.0 could take place in a book club, at the PTA, with mom friends at the office. Maybe I can find another space where I’m surrounded by people at the same stage of life who say things that make sense to me.
But for now, I sure do miss that baby group.
