blogs

When Baby J was five weeks old, I took him out for the first time by myself. We went to the Farmers' Market, and I have never been so terrified to buy seasonal produce.

It was nine in the morning. I knew I had to go early or I'd lose my nerve. My husband was counting on fresh vegetables and couldn't go with us because it was Wednesday.

I packed Baby J hastily into the car and we drove over. On the way I probably looked like a junkie. I turned to look at him every three seconds. When I had to look ahead, I banged my fingers maniacally across the steering wheel. There was no music. I needed to think.

When we got there, I parked and got out the stroller and carseat, hoping against hope he'd fall asleep on the way across the parking lot.

He didn't.

I did the fastest shopping round ever, all the while waiting for the meltdown to start. (In hindsight, I don't know why I was so scared. If he cried, what did I think would happen?)

On my way out, someone stopped me and I almost panicked. (Did I mention I looked awful? I was on my way back to what I consider to be an acceptable weight, but you couldn't tell. I was wearing my husband's giant Harvard shirt and shorts that probably were not entirely spit-up free. That and flip-flops. And I'd stapled my hair back with bobby pins so I could freak out without worrying about my hair.)

Anyway, someone stopped me. We'll call her "SC," in the style of Laguna Beach and The Hills.

"Hi!" she said. She was pretty and put together, and had an enviable stroller.

"Do you come to the Farmers' Market often?" she continued, "If so, you should walk with us -- we walk and then sit at Starbucks after." She gestured towards a group of pretty, together women sitting calmly with their pretty, together children. Everyone looked happy and calm. No one was having a discreet meltdown as they scrutinized their child's face for the sign of the next storm. No one was almost crying as they tried to get their carseat into the stroller without waking up the baby.

I noticed then, that her stroller held two children -- one a cute toddler, and another, a tiny baby. It turned out he was just two weeks older than Baby J. So I wasn't the insane girl who took her baby out way too early. Though I was the insane girl who really wanted to go home and cry for no reason. Hm.

I felt totally inadequate, but, then again, I thought maybe I could learn from them.

I gave her my number and hoped she'd call -- later, when I got a chance to make myself look more passably human. I didn't think she would call. SC and I on that day were from totally different planets. Hers was human and mine was insane.

It may be practically impossible to believe, but she called.

And I went with them.

And it turns out, contrary to what all the magazines say about what you need when you bring home a new baby, what you really need is friends. You need people who have been there, who don't look at you strangely when you say you need to go home because you think your baby might cry.

People who tell you what bench to use to change your baby's diaper, say, or who tell you that your diaper bag, which is cutting angry red welts into your shoulder as you pretend it doesn't hurt, should be exchanged for a smaller one. It turns out you really don't need to bring the water purifier with you everywhere you go.

I still go with them. I don't get as scared about Baby J having a fit. And actually, now that I don't worry, he seems to have calmed down. Some days, we can even pass for normal.

I'm forever grateful to SC and her friends for adopting me. I still wish I could be nearly as cool.