They hooted and giggled. Hot jealousy pumped vigorously through my veins.
Emily took off her sunglasses and looked deep into the camera. How are her eyelashes so long? I wondered.
“My family is everything to me, but I wouldn’t be able to survive without my mama village. These three women mean the world to me. That’s why, whenever we can, we hop on a jet and go somewhere where we can connect.”
A mystery gloved hand holding a platter of champagne flutes, appeared from the side.
The women cheered. Emily took a glass.
“This week, the challenge is to find your village of moms! Join a playgroup. Make a best friend. You can do it!”
She clinked glasses with her friends and took a long sip.
“I believe in you! Oh, and before I let you go, remember that you only have three more weeks before our trip to Napa together! I can’t wait to make all of you my besties for life! Who knows, maybe next year we’ll be on vacation together. Make today a great one!”
With that, the connection switched off.
Now that’s the life. I tried to imagine jetting off to spend a few days with Emily Walker and her cast of mom models to drink sparkling wine on a secluded beach. I can already see the conversation.
“Gloria, can you take Aubrey for a little while? My best friend and television host, Emily Walker, and I are going resort hopping in Jamaica.”
Could that really be my life? A shiver of excitement ran up my spine.
2 P.M.
Breastfeeding is the first and best gift you can give your child. It’s not just perfect milk that’s flowing through you into your child, it’s perfect love. Some of my best memories are of being a young toddler and breastfeeding from my own mother.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
Aubrey woke up soon after Laundrygate, so I popped her into the stroller for a coffee run. I’ve learned that staying home in the afternoon makes the day go by even slower than it usually does, so we often run errands (i.e., buy things we don’t need or ice cream) to pass the time. If I’d known what was going to happen at the café, I probably would have stayed home.
It was quiet, the early afternoons just after lunch and before the later afternoon slump rush always were. There were plenty of tables to choose from, but I made a beeline toward the one with a stroller. It was empty—the owner must be in the bathroom, I theorized. Being a mom means being on the constant lookout for friendship, a listening ear, or just someone to complain to who gets it. I’ve found grocery checkers aren’t the best listeners.
I quickly purchased my vanilla latte and gingerbread loaf with a madeleine for Aubrey and sat down, practically trembling with anticipation. Who was the mom? Or dad? Was I about to make my lifelong best friend?
Then she emerged from the bathroom, juggling her diaper bag and a baby wearing a blue romper who looked no older than six months. I cleared my throat in anticipation. The café was almost empty but I’d chosen a seat one table over so as not to come off as too desperate.
She crouched down and grabbed a lightweight blanket before sitting down, cradling her baby in her lap.
I stood halfway up, preparing to introduce myself, before I saw her slip one strap of her tank top down and flop the blanket over her shoulder. She was nursing. Oh. I’d been down this road before. When Aubrey was three months old I joined a mom group for about five minutes. That’s how long it took me to figure out that I was the only one not breastfeeding. It’s not that the moms were judgmental—the pitying, sympathetic smiles every time I pulled a bottle out were too much. Maybe it’d all been in my head, but watching them cradle their babies on their giant nursing pillows while I measured formula was more than I could take on a regular basis.
I didn’t realize I was staring until I snapped to and saw the nursing mom looking at me. I smiled and she returned it.
I busied myself opening Aubrey’s package of madeleines and handed her one. “Here you go, honey,” I whispered, trying not to notice the stark difference in what we were feeding our babies. Aubrey snipped off a tiny bit of the soft cookie with her gums and grinned.
I couldn’t resist peeking at the mom again. She and her baby were lost in each other the way breastfeeding moms always are. She gazed down at him with a serene smile on her face. What does that feel like? I wondered to myself. The feeling of knowing you’re doing the absolute perfect thing for your child without a doubt. She looked so calm and serene. The baby reached up from behind the blanket and touched her face. They were like a commercial. I gathered our belongings and headed for the door. When the daylight hit my face, I was grateful for the distraction.
One hand on the stroller, the other clutching my sweet coffee, I took Aubrey for the longest walk we’d been on so far.
4 P.M.
I was sitting in my living room watching Aubrey, who was currently fascinated by the twirling monkey mirror on her exersaucer. She was adorable. I was obsessed with her. But I was bored.
I really did need friends, but when you’re a mom, that’s easier said than done.
Yesterday at the park I tried to chat up a couple of moms who were having what looked like a really interesting conversation. They were whispering and everything. You should have seen how slick I was as I complimented one of the moms on her stroller and tried to use that as a segue to introduce myself. They looked at me like I had six boobs and an infant breastfeeding on each one.
They were polite enough, but it obvious that they wanted me to keep moving.
You know what really surprised me about motherhood? The slow realization that mothers aren’t anything I thought they were to each other. I thought once you entered the mommy club they brought you into the fold with open arms. Look guys, my vagina/stomach/overall body got torn up just like yours and I’m pushing a stroller here, we’re all going to be best friends, right? No. Maybe it was naive of me to think that just because we shared the experience of never feeling rested that we’d be blood sisters for life, but I wanted that. I needed that.
It killed me that one of the hardest parts of being a mom was sometimes dealing with other moms. The judgments, the looks, the advice that feels like a slow plunging of a knife into an already sore spot. They were supposed to understand better than anyone. They were supposed to be the only people I didn’t have to pretend for. They should have been my safe space, but they weren’t.
Anyway. If someone needs me, I’ll be talking to the nine-month-old in my care.
9 P.M.
I met my best friend, Alexsis, at the Rainbow Orchid Spa in Napa Valley, California. We were both taking a little R & R. The minute our eyes connected over the steam in the sauna, I knew we’d be best friends for life.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better