Dear New Mama:
I’m writing a letter to you that I’ve read before. It’s a letter always written by a mom with an older baby or young child. She realizes, after the fact, that she should have said something encouraging to the mom who is losing it because her toddler is screaming in the grocery store, or she should have smiled brighter at the mom in the coffee shop with an infant in its car seat, who clearly hasn’t showered in 3 days, or that she could have been more encouraging to the mom in Target who obviously needed someone to talk to.
I’ve always read these “open letters” from my lofty position as someone who hasn’t had an acute encounter such as those being written about. I’ve always smugly thought to myself, “well, how nice that she’s acknowledging her mistake, I know I would never be this person though, I would say something in the moment. Because I’m awesome. I support other moms. I’m a mom’s mom!” Well, mama, I am eating my very smug words.
We ran into each in the wall-hooks aisle at Target. You were so eager to talk, but clearly a bit unsure if you should. However, you dove in and engaged my son when he said “HI!” in his tiny toddler voice. You asked me questions about him, you smiled at me brightly. I was cordial, I commented on how cute your baby is. Then you told me she’s only 7 weeks old.
That’s when I briefly thought to myself that maybe you needed some mom support, someone to talk to, someone to simply ask “how are you doing?”. But I didn’t act on this thought, on this instinct I had. Instead, I kept making polite small-talk while simultaneously looking for the sticky-hook I had come into the aisle to find.
Until you walked away. You reluctantly moved on when your baby woke up because she likes to be moving (don’t I know about that!). You clearly wanted to stay and talk longer, but I didn’t encourage you, instead I went on with my task.
Moments after you left I realized my mistake. I’ve been thinking about it for 24 hours now. I feel terrible. I messed up, and I’m so sorry. I kept hoping to see you in the store, but I didn’t. As I was pulling out of the parking lot I saw you wheeling your baby to your car, which oddly enough was parked in the spot next to where I had been parked.
You deserve better mama, and I’m sorry. I know better. I know better because I can distinctly remember those early, early weeks when I would timidly venture out with my newborn. I too would attempt to make eye contact, or even small talk with other moms in the store or coffee shop. It was such a lonely time. A time filled with so much uncertainty. I fully recall needing to connect with someone who knew what I was going through, even if that was simply another young mom running errands with her baby.
I let you down. I let myself down. We as moms deserve better. With paternity leave barely existent, maternity leave a joke, social support for new moms laughable, many family members far away, and the village of stay-at-home moms that our grandmothers relied on all but completely dissipated, we deserve better. Moms deserve better. I should have been better. Because the people who will, who should, make those early days, weeks, and months tolerable, bearable, relatable, are people like me. The moms who have been there. The moms who are finally getting it together, and can help the moms with tiny babies. It takes a village. Even if that means a stranger simply showing some empathy in the wall hook aisle at Target.
I am truly sorry. And I promise, the next time I see you, whoever you may be, I will listen to my instinct. I will acknowledge your need to talk. I will ask you how you’re doing. But you must promise me that in 18 months you will step into my shoes as the experienced mama. You will reach out to the new mom in the bookstore or the coffee shop, at the grocery store, and yes, at Target. You will put aside your “to do” list for 5 minutes, and simply ask her how she’s doing, like I should have done with you, and like I will do next time I run across a new mom who just needs a moment to connect with someone who’s been there.
Sincerely,
The Mom Who’s Been There and Knows Better