Confessions of a Domestic Failure Read online

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  Almost a full month into the Motherhood Better Bootcamp I have lost no weight, my hair is still falling out like it’s offended by my scalp, and Aubrey knows zero sign language while Ella is up to forty-five words and has her own YouTube channel. Joy says she has 300 subscribers and is being scouted by baby modeling agencies.

  I am a complete loser.

  Off to drown my sorrows in a bag of chips. Chips always understand.

  Monday, February 18, 10 A.M.

  I don’t know what I’d do without my group of mommy friends. There are ten of us in our village and we aren’t just best buddies, we’re sisters. We spend so much time together that even our housekeepers are friends now.

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  The fourth Motherhood Better Bootcamp video conference is this morning. Aubrey woke up at 4 a.m., so by 8 a.m. she was in a deep sleep. I placed her in her crib and by some miracle she didn’t wake up. If it were any other day I’d immediately lie down on the couch and pass out until her cries woke me up, but I rushed to put on a bit of foundation and lip gloss.

  Over the past few calls, I’d noticed something: each time, the other moms looked more and more put together. For the first one, everyone was in raggedy ponytails and had the same dark circles under their eyes I know so well. For the second one, hair was brushed and clean, lips were tinted. And then, suddenly, the moms looked like they’d been airbrushed: straightened or expertly curled hair, full makeup, no clutter in the background. We looked better, but I couldn’t help but wonder if we felt better. We were in full-blown silent competition with each other.

  I looked in the mirror and decided that a moderately clean black tank top, sweatpants that nobody would see, powder and plum gloss were going to have to do it today. I pulled back my hair into a bun. Not bad.

  I opened my computer and logged in. It was only a few seconds before I heard Emily Walker’s voice sing over my speakers.

  “Aloha everyone!” The camera zoomed into focus and there was Emily, lying out on a beach chair in a gold bikini. She was holding some kind of selfie-stick-type camera that allowed her to pan right and left. Beside her were three other women in blue, red and white barely-there swimsuits, looking perfect.

  I glanced down at my sweats.

  “I’m coming to you live from the island of Kaio! My three best friends and I are here for the next few days enjoying a little break from my whirlwind book tour! The dads are officially on duty—am I right, ladies?”

  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 s
egue 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

  I took some decisive action to find my “mama tribe” today, and even by my standards it helped me achieve a new low.

  Okay, so I was at the café, like always. It took me almost a full three minutes to cram my T. rex of a stroller through the door. The Mitax Marathon is trendy, but why, oh why, are the wheels so far apart? I felt like the business people on their phones and students tapping away on their computers enjoyed watching me almost dump Aubrey out onto the floor as I tipped the stroller to an angle to finally get myself in.

  “No, no, don’t get up,” is what I hope my eyes said at the 20-plus people who remained glued to their seats staring at me while I struggled. I don’t expect help just because I’m a mom, but what happened to the whole “it takes a village” thing?

  Back to the story.

  Ten minutes later I was sitting down, vanilla latte in hand, when Aubrey started to fuss the way she always does when I’ve reached a pre-baby state of relaxation. A few twenty-year-olds turned to look at me and I could tell they were irritated. Obviously they were never babies and were born fully grown, so the sound of a human infant is completely foreign to them.

  Or maybe they think a good mother would sedate her baby with tranquilizers before taking it out in public so no one would be subjected to the torture of hearing a baby get upset.

  Either that, or my child’s cries were distracting them from their oh-so-important Facebook posts.

  After one of them sighed loudly for the third time, I took the hint and started preparing to leave. But then I thought, Why should I have to vacate the premises every time Aubrey makes a sound? It’s not like she’s screaming her head off. No. I decided to handle it right there.

  I picked Aubrey up out of her stroller and could tell right away that she was exhausted. It’s hard for me to get her to nap at home much less in a loud coffee shop full of judgy twenty-year-olds probably live tweeting my every move, but I was determined.

  I cradled her firmly in my arms and draped a blanket across my shoulder and over her head to block out some of the light and started bouncing her. The Motherhood Gods must have smiled upon me because she fell asleep in ten seconds flat. I couldn’t believe it! I was finally becoming the kind of mom I’d always wanted to be: capable. My arm fell asleep and started to burn, and I was pretty sure it was going to fall off, but my kid was asleep and I had coffee. All was right in the world.

  Then they walked in. The moms I’d seen at the park a few days earlier. My dream mommy group. My dream village. There were five of them. They all wore their babies and toddlers in a rainbow of amazing carriers: long strips of tie-dyed cloth, gorgeous prints. One of them pushed a double stroller. They held the door for her. See? Mom friends are a must. They walked in and sat at the table directly behind mine. I could barely breathe.

  I knew it was my chance. I needed to say something. But what? Introduce myself? I took a few very nervous sips of my latte and tried to think of something to say. I took a deep breath and, right as I was about to turn around, a woman standing in front of me cleared her throat loudly.

  I assumed my stroller was blocking her way.

  “Sorry, do you need me to move my—” I began.

  “Do you mind not doing THAT in here?” She twisted her lips and pointed at sleeping Aubrey.

  I was legitimately confused. Let my baby sleep? Drink lattes while looking like a Dumpster? What was she talking about? And it dawned on me. She thought I was breastfeeding. My boobs have been drier than a raisin for months but she thought I was breastfeeding.

  My mind raced as I tried to find just the right words, but before I could speak a voice behind me boomed, “SHE’S NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”

  The moms. They came in like a wrecking ball and swarmed me before I could utter a single word.

  A redhead in a maxi dress stood between me and the woman. “She has every right to feed her baby here. Breastfeeding in public is protected by law, or didn’t you know that?”

  A mom in a blue sweatsuit chimed in, her arm protectively around a curly haired toddler in a yellow-and-green checkered wrap. “She’s not going anywhere and you have no right to ask her!”

  People were turning around in their seats now. The whole café was watching and I think I saw one teenager filming with his phone.

  Business lady clicked her tongue and shook her head disapprovingly. “It would really be more appropriate if you did that kind of thing in the bathroom.”

  I still hadn’t said anything. I knew that this was the moment to say that I wasn’t even actually breastfeeding but two things popped into my head.

  If I WERE breastfeeding, this woman was way out of line for asking me to leave.

  THE MOMS NOTICED ME. THEY NOTICED ME AND MIGHT WANT TO BE MY FRIENDS.

  I’m not sure where the voice came from but the words, “I’m not going anywhere. Breastfeeding is natural,” came out of my mouth before I could stop them. I may have hugged sleeping Aubrey closer to my chest area, also. I also may have said, “It’s my right.”

  Business lady whipped around in a huff and stomped away. Of course I immediately thanked the other moms. Maxi Dress (whose name is actually Lola) put her hand on my shoulder and asked me what I was doing tomorrow. I said “Nothing,” and they invited me to their playgroup. The only problem is...it’s a La Lait meeting. For breastfeeding moms. And I’m not breastfeeding.

  I said yes.

  The good news is that I now have friends. The bad news is that it’s based on a small (HUGE) lie.

  Tuesday, February 19, 9 A.M.

  I breastfed my first children, Eleanor and Gregory, until they were 4.5 years old. They’re rarely sick and read two grades above their age. Breast milk can cure many common ailments including sore throats, the flu, eczema, burns and even hangnails.”

  —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

  What am I going to do? I’m a formula mom in a breastfeeding world. Just my luck that the first serious mom-group prospect I get since the pyramid scheme playdate is based on a huge lie. Maybe once they get to know me they can overlook the whole “I lied about breastfeeding and my baby is really living on the stuff you think is pure evil” thing.

  Today was my first La Lait meeting. Operation Pretend to Breastfeed to Make Friends was in full effect. I wore jeans and a button-down shirt because I read on the MilkMums.net message board that they’re the easiest to nurse in. I wasn’t proud of myself, but I knew blending in was goin
g to be important until I worked up the nerve to tell them the truth.

  There was a small possibility that I also wore a nursing bra, but only because I had one lying around from before Aubrey was born. I’d given all but one of them to Joy after it was cemented that I wouldn’t be breastfeeding. To be honest, I was still a little raw that she’d had the nerve to ask me for them.

  “I mean, it’s not like you need them,” she told me while I was holding six-week-old Aubrey and still crying every time I made a bottle.

  Aubrey was quiet as we drove to the meeting. She was ridiculously cute in her lavender overalls and white shirt. As we made our way out of the suburbs and toward the La Lait meeting in the hip part of town that was inhabited by college students, organic grocery stores and independently owned coffee shops, I reflected on how I found myself in this utterly ridiculous predicament. Technically, I never lied. My exact words at the café were “I’m not going anywhere. Breastfeeding is natural. It’s my right.” All of those statements are true. I wasn’t going anywhere. Breastfeeding is totally natural. And it was my right. I just wasn’t doing it.

  They’re the ones who assumed I was breastfeeding. If I’d corrected them in the café in front of that wretched woman I would have hurt the movement.

  My heart began to race as I pulled into the community co-op parking lot. It was adjacent to a public garden with a hand-painted sign that read, “Come one, plant all.” A few people, a young woman in a long patchwork skirt with a toddler strapped to her back, a man with an elaborate beard and wearing denim shorts, and an older woman wearing a mechanic-style jumpsuit, were harvesting the land.

  I sat in the car for a few moments with my hands on the steering wheel. “I can’t pretend to breastfeed Aubrey,” I said aloud. “That’s insane. It’s deranged. Who does that?” I peeked at Aubrey in the rearview mirror. She gummed on a silicone teether in the shape of a giraffe. I’d received three of them at my baby shower. Apparently they were the hot must-have for moms. As I stared into her sweet brown eyes, I knew what I had to do.