I had a college friend (and currently new mother) recently post about taking her newborn out to lunch with some friends. She was embarrassed because she couldn’t get her little baby to calm down, he was out of his element and off his nap schedule. She felt bad and was wondering aloud to social media why she even tried leaving the house that day.
I pondered this awhile, reliving my own new mother experiences in several flashbacks which brought on a mixture of horror, humor, and a twinge of longing. But all my musings came to the same conclusion and a piece of advice I wish I listened to more often:
Never stop trying to leave the house!
You need it, they need it, and if you deprive yourself of interaction for too long, you are likely to become a desperate, half-crazed mom-ster who word vomits on everyone when you finally do go out because you haven’t had the chance to hold an intelligent conversation with anyone who isn’t finishing a full night’s sleep let alone a full sentence.
I deprived myself of human interaction way too much as a new mother, and for what I initially thought were good reasons: the baby needs to be home and comfortable; I need to stay and clean while they sleep; I could be meal prepping; what is they start fussing in public and I can’t calm them down?
One story in particular always comes to mind when I think about how whacked out I was as a new mom and how one venture out into the world was both humiliating and humbling.
My friend Lindsay (yes THAT Lindsay – co-author and all around bad ass boss lady, wife and mother) had invited me to lunch. She wanted to see me and the baby, and I was desperate enough for human interaction at that point that I readily agreed without much thought as to how I would accomplish the task. It was my first real attempt at leaving the house and going into public for pleasure rather than survival (formula, diapers, food, etc.). My little girl, Annabelle, was no more than 2 months and I was just about at the end of my maternity leave. I hadn’t left the house in days and I wanted to go out to eat with my friend in an attempt to regain some normalcy.
We decided on Jason’s Deli, which I was all for – those little brown muffins are like my crack. We both went through the line, ordered and were waiting for our food. My little baby girls was a trooper, she had slept the entire drive there and was being an absolute angel. Isn’t it great when they lull you into a false sense of calm right before the storm?
Suddenly, my daughter’s calm, sleeping demeanor began to crumble. It started with a slight whimper, followed by a scrunched-up face and pouting lip. Then, without even opening her eyes, her tiny little mouth opened and gave way to the most ear-piercing, shrill cry I had ever heard her make. Now, in reality I’m sure she was just crying like normal, but to my new-mom-in-public ears it was like the wailings of a freshly uprooted mandrake (absurdly accurate Harry Potter reference).
I rushed to pull her out of her car seat, using one hand to scoop her out as I simultaneously shoved my other arm elbow-deep in to my ridiculously overpacked baby bag. My fingers finally managed to get hold of a bottle that had found its way to the very bottom. I pulled it out, relief almost crossing my face, until I realized: it was completely empty. I frantically started looking into the bag, desperation straining in my eyes until I noticed the other bottle neatly shoved into a side pocket, having completely forgotten that was where I had placed it for easy access. Mom brain strikes again!
I pulled out the bottle with dry formula in it just as my friend Lindsay appeared with a mug full of lukewarm water. I quickly dumped it into the bottle, I eyeballed it, measurements be damned this was an emergency! I shook that thing like a polaroid picture and popped it into the open crying maw of my tiny demon seed…only to be met with continued crying. Which made sense, since she had just eaten not 30 minutes before when I left the house for lunch (which is why she slept in the car). So I checked her diaper: clean. I checked her arm and legs: still attached. I tried again to feed her the bottle: no go.
Suddenly it dawned on me, my worst fear was happening: she was being fussy for no real reason and I couldn’t calm her down…in public.
It was around this time that our food was delivered. I stared longingly at my hot, steaming cup of broccoli cheddar soup and half club sandwich and realized this was yet another meal I would eat cold or reheated. Lindsay asked if I wanted her to take the baby, and I shook my head, resolving myself to take her to the car and free myself from my rising embarrassment. You might be asking yourself: why didn’t you just walk outside? My baby was born mid-October and it was around mid-December when this all went down so the car was my only place of solace that I could think of. I grabbed the keys to my car and turned towards the exit and was suddenly face to face with an older woman of small stature.
Her face was kind, her hair was short, gray and styled in soft waves around her head. Her clothes looked straight out of a JCPenney catalog – in short she looked like a nice older lady, like Rose from The Golden Girls.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed looking at my baby as I tried to gently bounce her in an attempt to calm her down, “she’s so fussy! Little one, how is mommy supposed to enjoy a hot meal with you just a cryin’ like that?”
“I think she’s gassy,” I awkwardly blurted out, “I was going to take her to the car, I’m sorry if she’s disturbing you.”
“Not at all,” she replied, waving off my apology, “babies cry, it’s kind of their thing.”
“Yes ma’am, thank you,” I said, relieved that she wasn’t going to get onto me about spoiling everyone’s meal.
“You need to eat,” she said matter-of-factly, nodding towards my full plate, “I can take her for ya for awhile.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking, I would have to be crazy to give my newborn baby to a stranger I just met in a public setting. But to be completely honest, I just desperately wanted to sit down and eat a hot meal with my friend and have a decent, uninterrupted conversation. Maybe it was the little plate, overflowing with tiny brown muffins, or the complete and utter lack of sleep and food that resolved me to do it, but I did. I handed my newborn baby off to a lady I just met at a Jason’s Deli in Birmingham, Alabama and went back to my seat to begin vehemently tearing into my food.
Lindsay, ever the observant and sane one, looked at me, looked over her shoulder at the old lady gently bouncing and walking my baby down a short path between booths, and then back at me.
“You just gave your baby…to a stranger,” Lindsay stated, a mixture of disbelief and confusion.
“Yup,” I replied as I shoved another tiny brown muffin into my already full mouth.
“Does stranger danger mean nothing to you?”
“Eh,” I said, glancing back up at the older lady as she made her way back and forth on her tiny path, “pretty sure I could clothesline her if she tried to take off.”
“I could’ve took her for you,” Lindsay insisted again.
“Nah, I want you to enjoy your meal, too, and it gives us a moment to talk” I replied taking a big bite of my sandwich.
“Did you even catch her name?” she asked with a slight incredulous chuckle.
“Nope.”
By this time, my daughter was quiet, the woman having seemingly used her old lady magic to tame the beast that was my child. I finished my food fairly quickly, chatting with Lindsay in between bites and glances up to ensure all was well. I finally leaned back from my empty plate and took a big sigh, savoring the last of the first hot meal I’d had in awhile. I stood up and walked over to my baby, unable to hold back my continuous thank-yous to this kindly saint of a woman who had taken pity on me.
“Don’t even mention it,” she said handing my darling child back to me, “I went through this 4 times with my own, and I have 10 grandkids. I know what it’s like to need a moment.”
I could hardly hold back the tears as her empathetic words washed over. I suddenly felt very aware of just how different I had become; I was a mother now. I had just experienced my first real moment of mom shaming, and it had been self-imposed (as it usually is I would come to find out). I also experienced my first sense of belonging to the secret club that is motherhood: having other women of all ages and backgrounds rally together to support and assure each other that they’re not alone. It was a pretty decent epiphany, all things considered.
I thanked the lady again for her help as I strapped my baby back into her car seat and gathered up my things. I never did catch her name, but I always refer to her as Betty White when I recall the memory and that makes me smile even more.
So please, new moms and moms of every experience and stage of life: never stop trying to leave the house! You deserve to be out there, to be seen, to be heard, and to be understood.
https://www.pregnancybirthbaby.org.au/getting-out-of-the-house-with-your-new-baby