On a recent morning, my day started with a country music dance party with my 3-month-old son. Decked out in pajamas and desperately trying to chug coffee while “dancing,” I was overcome with a sense of undying love for this 12-lb bundle of colic and giggles. The colic isn’t new, but the giggles are a recent, and abundantly welcome, development. Once I recovered from my state of parental reverie, I immediately blasted a love-filled status update into the universe.
Thanks to some pre-existing health conditions, I was under the impression that I would almost certainly be unable to get pregnant without years of trying and medical intervention. Imagine my surprise when a visit to the local emergency room ended with morphine and a positive pregnancy test.
The first month of my son Mateo Aidan’s life is a blur to me. He slept so much that at one point I said to someone: “He doesn’t do much.” It wasn’t until about a month in when things started to get real for me. He started to cry for the majority of the night. Family started coming less regularly, and getting people to visit was more challenging than expected. My fiancé returned to work, and I was left with a sense of isolation I hadn’t prepared for. I ached for the feeling of maternal bliss that I had heard about on television and in magazines. I felt like a horrible mother for not feeling overwhelmed with love for my child at every moment. I fell into a deep funk that was likely the result of a combination of sleep deprivation, colic, and a touch of post-partum depression. My days started to feel endless. The nights were hour after hour of tears. Through it all, I kept posting on a particular Facebook group I’d been participating in.
About halfway through my unbelievably challenging pregnancy, a friend invited me to join a private Facebook group for moms and moms-to-be. These are also the women who were notified when I was on the floor in tears because my 1-month-old colic-y baby had not stopped crying for hours and I hadn’t slept in approximately 10 weeks. When I considered fleeing to Mexico, these women heard about it. I firmly believe that the unending support, guidance, and commiseration I found in this group of strangers played a significant role in how my son and I made it through the darkness and into the world of dance parties and laughter.
My posts ranged from: “I simply cannot do this anymore,” to: “Please tell me it gets better,” and often ended with: “Need virtual hugs.” And virtual hugs are exactly what I got. These strangers walked me through each day. They posted their struggles honestly. They said the politically incorrect things I spent my days thinking, but never actually said out loud. Watching their successes and foibles eased the sense of isolation I struggled with. I learned what to expect in the months and years to come. I watched other mothers walk through things I hope I never have to even imagine. I “liked” them endlessly. These strangers were people who would talk honestly about feeding struggles, post-baby body freak-outs, sex after a baby, and everything in between.
Recently, I lunched with two of these women—thereby turning Facebook friends into real friends. One of them joked that we mustn’t get too close or the level of comfort stemming from internet anonymity will be ruined. Because, honestly, where else would we go with some of the wackadoo stuff that runs through our heads regularly? Bringing the baby to dine with two women who were unconcerned that he cried during the majority of meal felt like forming a complete circle.
Mateo has since turned a corner with the colic, but more importantly—thanks to my virtual support system—I’ve turned a corner with parenting. Now, I wake up most mornings excited to watch my son laugh on the changing table and wondering if today might be the day he rolls over. While there are times when Mexico still seems like a relatively good idea, most days I’m more than happy throwing dance parties for two in my living room with a baby who has stolen my heart.
Elizabeth Raymond works as a freelance writer and lives in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn with her son and fiance.
