As I was nabbing the two youngers from the gym the other day, I couldn’t help but notice a mama taking about 432 minutes to get her babe all bundled up and into her car seat. During that time, I strapped a hat on the littlest’s head with intentions of mad-dashing it to the car through the frozen tundra, tied the middlest’s shoes, zipped his coat, and grabbed my bag. She asked me how old the baby was. I told her he is now old enough that I don’t have to make appointments which is pretty much magical. She smiled and said that that day felt forever away for her. That she couldn’t even think of the day when her babe would sleep through the night. When she would sleep again. She told me that her baby had just reached the 3 month mark. That her husband traveled… a lot. That she’d long thought she’d wanted to stay home. And that now… she felt overwhelmed. And that that made her feel bad. That it took her too much time to accomplish even the smallest tasks. And that that made her feel bad. That she came to the gym to shower. And that made her feel bad. And that she didn’t know how I did it with two so close in age and made it look effortless.
Oh, mama. I wanted to hug her. And tell her. Tell her we are all looking at each other.
We are all looking at each other. Thinking that the ones we’re looking at have figured it out. We are all looking at each other. Thinking we must be missing that one thing that will make this all easier. We are all looking at each other. Our pictures on Facebook of our smartly dressed children, our perfectly placed scarves, our skinny jeans. And we’re thinking they look like that day-in day-out. Even though we know that’s not the case. We are all looking at each other. And asking questions, and learning, and laughing at ourselves. And sometimes crying. We are all looking at each other. Because there is no one right way to do any of it. But there seem to be a lot of wrong ones. At least if you ask certain moms. We are all looking at each other. Because we think maybe she is the woman our children deserve. We are all looking at each other. Sure that the children they have didn’t cry four times during dinner prompting their mother to walk out of the room and sit on her bed looking at IG. We are all looking at each other. Hoping to see it look a little hard for her, too. To feel less successless. We are all looking at each other. Because we know what it’s like. At one point or another throughout our own motherhood, we are looking at the mamas around us and questioning, “Why can’t I be more like her?”.
I could feel where she was. Probably on the cusp of tears. Probably so happy to be a mama. And yet. So lonely. And I wanted to tell her, We are all looking at each other… because we are ALL trying to get it right… every day. No one does it all. But most do their best. And that is all you can do.
I didn’t really say all my thoughts. I just told her I knew it was hard. And that everyone says it gets easier. But I think, more, it becomes familiar. She laughed and said that sounds more likely.
In that brief exchange I told her all the things in my head that I needed to hear. I needed for her to say hi that day. I needed her to tell me it looked effortless. If even from a complete stranger. And we walked out into the cold air. And she told me she was glad she started talking to me.
Me too, mama. Me, too.
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