I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately in part because of my reunion, in part because it's Thanksgiving, and in part because I just finished Kelle Hampton's Bloom - a wonderful memoir recounting the birth of Hampton's second child, a daughter named Nella. In her book, Hampton honestly recounts her disappointment that Nella was born with Down's Syndrome and poignantly records her struggles to come to terms with accepting a baby that she never envisioned the nine months she was pregnant.
Hampton's story struck a chord with me. She writes about how looking at the clothes she wore the night she went to the hospital to deliver Nella made her weep - how they embodied a "before" and an imagined "after" that she wholeheartedly mourned. I could identify with that feeling; it was the same one I got, strangely, whenever I now pushed open the door to the bathroom on the floor of my ob/gyn's office. The woman who stopped there after every doctor's appointment, staring at the beauty of her big belly in the full length mirror next to the door, excited for a celebratory post-appointment lunch with her husband at the Peacock Cafe was not the same woman I saw now, the one bogged down by a haze of sadness she couldn't explain. Like Hampton, my delivery and post-delivery visions were entirely different from what would become my reality, and I, too, mourned.
I don't think I've ever explicitly stated here that I had postpartum depression after Baby Beeton's birth and that those first few months contained some of the lowest moments of my life. And I still can't seem to reconcile the fact that what should have been one of the happiest times in my life was actually one of the worst. It's taken a while to understand what happened and to make peace with it. Reading Hampton's book was, for me, a step toward forgiving myself for something I couldn't control and another step toward moving on. (Thanks, M, for lending it to me.)
One of the things that struck me when reading Bloom was the incredible support system that Hampton had around her after Nella's birth. She had both family and friends who, on a moment's notice, dropped everything to be with her, to help her through. I was so impressed with that kindness - the offering without having been asked.
I found my own support system in the months following Baby Beeton's birth. Surprisingly, it wasn't found in the people I expected to find it in. Instead, I mostly found help in, as Blanche DuBois would say, "the kindness of strangers" - my therapist, my Wednesday night support group, my book club, and, most significantly, my Takoma Mamas group. I owe this last group so much - even though they probably don't know it. Our weekly meetings, where we shared our tips and asked our questions, was literally a high point of each week. Seeing that I wasn't alone, knowing I had a chance to be heard, that meant everything to me. I'm continually impressed by this group of smart, funny, thoughtful women. They are always there for one another, whether someone needs advice about frequent night wakings or whether someone needs to borrow a booster seat for visiting guests. And, while all we might see on television (and sometimes experience in real life, especially high school) are women arguing, backstabbing, excluding (think the Real Housewives franchise), these women go out of their way to be inclusive. Despite the fact that we all have different personalities and that some of those personalities mesh better than others, these women really make an effort to make everyone feel included. I couldn't have found a better, more accepting, community at a time when I desperately needed it.
Perhaps what I've learned this past year is that sometimes the people you expect to be standing by you when you need them the most aren't the ones who actually end up next to you. Certainly, I envisioned a different group of high school girls surrounding me in my senior photos, but actually, the ones that I ended up with were better than any I could imagine.
So I've leave you with a little Kelle Hampton inspiration. A little vision for my future. Something to one day give thanks for.
"Someday, several years from now, my friends and I will gather for coffee, and we'll talk about our kids' college applications. How much car insurance costs for teenagers. How we love our daughter's boyfriend (Oh God, I hope). But we'll remember that the depth of our cherished friendships began when we showed up long ago. When we held out our arms to hold each other's babies for the very first time. When we made mothering an infant seem a little less isolating because we stopped by, we brought meals, we rocked and kissed those newborns and we celebrated.
Because it takes a village."
- "Hallmark: It Takes a Village," Enjoying the Small Things, February 28, 2012
Keep sweeping, Martha
