I feel human again. I did not realize how much day after day after day of baby and cat talk was starting to wear on me. Yesterday was the first meeting of the Mommy and Me group. I walked the few blocks to the church where and by the time I got there I was a sweaty mess. 50% of the sweat was because we were having a hell of a hot day in NYC. The other 50% was from nerves.
Not only was I walking into a room full of mothers I had never met, I was walking into a situation that was completely foreign to me. A Mommy Group? Seriously, ask any infertile still in the trenches and the mere mention of it will make them green in the face. “I’ll never go to such things,” I used to swear as I bent over and presented my bare ass for my husband to jab yet another 1.5 inch needle.
Little did I know that once I achieved motherhood I would feel alone, isolated and, well, crazy from a lack of adult interaction. Add to that a brand new city and you get a shell of a woman. So I ate more words and went to the group and boy am I glad I did. I found a room full of moms and kids all of whom were so sweet and welcoming. Sabine and I hung out on the play mat with the other little babies and moms. By the end of the two hours plans had been made for several mamas to join me on Friday at the Stroller Exercise Group that meets at a neighborhood park. Another mama said we should connect to take daily walks, as her little one also loves taking morning walks.
It felt SO GOOD to meet other women and feel like part of a community. I’ve felt isolated from the bulk of my peers for a long, long time. I was the only one without a child, be it biological, adopted or step, and while I was rarely shunned for my situation I was still “different.” There were still long pauses in conversation as people struggled with what to say around me, and as I struggled to keep a “happy face” despite intense envy and sadness. Yesterday was different, though. Yesterday I was just another mama, with her little baby, tired and stinky but full of love and pride.
Last year at this time I was having my second FET, and it was failing. I was a mental disaster after my miscarriage and working through PTSD with the help of a counselor and Prozac. In one miraculous year I have made it to the other side and it feels, well, it feels damn amazing and every exhausted, unshowered, nipple biting day I thank whoever is up there looking over me, and pray that every woman who dreams of being a mama will make it to the other side.