November 7: post doom kindness
A mother’s loneliness, a warm cup of coffee, and a list of things to do for a new mom
I woke up this morning, like half of the world, feeling emotionally hungover. Angry that a 78-year-old misogynist and convicted felon can be elected President in one of the most powerful countries of the world instead of rotting in prison.
But life keeps going, especially with a four-month-old, so I kept busy and put my anger aside for a bit. It’ll come out again with full force when I go to bed tonight and when I wake up for the 3 am feed. I tried to clean up the kitchen, was interrupted 5 times to change a diaper, feed, play, change another diaper, play some music so L forgets I have my back turned to her (alas, it did not work).
So we left the house for some much needed fresh air. It’s a beautiful day, with few white clouds peppering a blue sky. I wore my rainbow-colored jacket, because today of all days is not the time to be shy about doing things that bring us joy.
I stopped by the cafe in the park and stood outside the window. Swedes love rules, and the rule to wait outside the window is that you should have a dog or want ice cream. I’d add on the blackboard that if you have a baby who just fell asleep in the stroller, but still needs to be rocked just in case, you qualify to make your order at the window.
So I stood there, wondering if I might be asked to come inside, already repeating what I want in my head so I’m out of the way quickly — so I’m not a bother.
(And that’s why we can’t have Presidents who say things like a woman’s pregnancy is great but a reason to be fired, because then the women in that society think that just by existing, they’re a bother.)
Hej! The waitress says happily. I’ve seen her multiple times before, she has a round face and a smile with crooked teeth. She’s always warm even when it’s busy, even when I’m slow with my Swedish, even when I speak in a low voice because L is sleeping in the carrier. I ask for an ostfralla (cheese sandwich) and a coffee. Just a normal one, I say, which you go and get yourself from the coffee station inside.
I expect her to hand me a take away cup but instead she asks: And how do you take your coffee? With milk or something else?
I’m a bit stunned so I mumble oat milk, then ask if it can be half and half. I end my sentence realizing it might be too much to ask, so I say I can go in myself.
She looks at me then, with the most gentle eyes and says: Nej, jag fixar. Should I also warm the milk up so it’s not too cold?
And with this, my friends, I almost want to cry. I am overwhelmed by her kindness. I’m sure she can see it because she looks at me with knowing eyes. They say it all: you’re sleep deprived and need comfort. It’s kind of cold and you’ve probably not had a warm drink in a while. It’s only 11:30 am and I can see that you’re already done. I can’t take the baby for a stroll while you take a rest, but I can make you a warm drink.
So here I stand by the window, rocking the stroller with one hand while I wait for my warm coffee. I leave with a smile on my face, thanking the gods that I have the privilege to live in this country, where at least women care.
I’ve been feeling incredibly lonely over the past few days. I got sick and L had been sick for a week, plus my parents visited and we did a million things every day. While I appreciated all the help (we decluttered and organized, and that always feels satisfying when you’ve not been able to finish things for the past few months), it is not a good combo when you’re not sleeping well. When I got sick on Friday after the day they left, I needed people to look after me.
I needed the village to bring me hot lemon and ginger water; to hug me; to take the baby while I napped; to put on Heartstopper while I lay on the couch half asleep; to ask me how I felt. I needed the little things, the warmth and presence of the aunties and the grandmas and the friends who know what Care, with a big C, means.
I do have P, and I do have friends. But everyone is tired and busy, or already have their hands full with babies and kids of their own. I love P to bits but he is a man and so has been taught to take care of things (laundry, grocery shopping, changing diapers), but not to offer Care as often as I need it. It’s also unfair to ask him to be my sole Carer.
Becoming a mother connected me to the world in a deeper way than I knew possible. I already cared about the climate, the homeless, our disconnect from the natural ecosystems, inequality, injustice. But now I see that a guy who doesn’t understand the multiple crises of our time will become President in January, and I don’t have the village around me. I have nowhere to share my anger and fear and sadness about it, so I feel more alone than ever. More deeply touched by the world, yet more alone in it. And it shouldn’t be this way.
So I am grateful for the wam cup of coffee. It takes like kindness and hope.
Here’s a non-exhaustive list of things to do for a new mother, in no particular order:
Bring her food and drinks. Ask her if she wants company, or if you should just drop it off. Some days I’ve barely had any water because my hands are always full, or I forget. Bringing water is even more important for a breastfeeding mama.
Ask her how she is regularly, without providing solutions, without trying to explain why she may feel the way she does. Just provide an opportunity for her to feel Heard and Seen.
Ask if she’s comfortable with you taking care of the baby, and if so:
Ask her to show you how to make bottles/change diapers/where the baby’s clothes are so you can do all of this for her when you visit her. Don’t wait for her to ask!
Ask for the bedtime/nap time routines so you can put the baby to bed when you’re around for it (often I don’t ask for help because I know my baby well and know how to soothe her, and I’m scared that changing up her routine will make things worse. But I’d love for someone to take her and take care of it).
Ask what she needs, often.
Let her know when you’re free to do something together, with or without baby, often. Reach out! When she needs it is most is when she doesn’t have the energy to ask.
Let her know you’re thinking of her by texting her, even sending voice notes to tell her how you’re doing. Sometimes I don’t have the brain space to listen to how others are doing, but when I do, I feel like I am still part of the world.
Let her know she’s doing great, because a mother always is. Even when she doesn’t know how, even when she’s exhausted, even when she doesn’t feel that she can go on.
Do not, I repeat, do not wait for her to ask, to reach out, to check in. I often think that I can’t ask for help because I have little or nothing to give back. But as my therapist said, I have nothing to give back now. I can only hope that when it’s someone else’s turn to be in a place where they need Care, I will be able to give it then.
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P.s. At the time of publishing, November 11, I can add that I did get to gather with the village - my digital one, called The Lab, one of my favorite community spaces on the internet since 2019. We cried and swore and shared. We listened. We held each other from afar. We left hopeful. And for that, too, I am grateful.