Three Mothers at the Coffee Shop

The other day, I went to a coffee place that I frequent, or, rather, I frequented with one baby, but infrequent it with two little guys because it doesn’t fit a stroller, and everything in there is breakable or art or both. Those sorts of places scare me when I’m with my kids, and thrill me when I’m by myself. Anyway, I had both of them that day because it was rainy, and I couldn’t face a major outing, but had to get out of the house, and all the better to an adult-ish place.

I had one in my arms despite his best wriggles, and the other hand-in-hand. I maneuvered thorough the line and got the coffee and made it to the milk-and-sugar counter. I add a lot of both, and I was determined to do it, so I took a deep breath and started to figure out a game plan that would get my coffee right and my children not scalded. A woman stepped over to me and said, “Would you like me to hold him for a second while you do that?” I admit that my typical reaction to a stranger trying to take my baby would be to kick her in the shins and run, but this was so clearly a kindred spirit and a grandmother. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. I handed her the baby gratefully, and got the coffee ready while we chatted a little bit. She told me that no one gets this unless they have been through it. She held the baby so gently and spoke softly to him while he noticeably did not try to wriggle away. She was calm. She had a stylish haircut and soft eyes.

We stepped over to a nearby table, when a woman who had been sitting close by and had heard us blurted out, “I just dropped my two kids off at day care and I was relieved. I feel so guilty, but I really was. It was just such a hard morning. I just couldn’t do it for another minute. I’m happy to be going to work right now. I feel so guilty.” I looked into a face of a woman who I just knew had dusted on makeup at red lights, taken 45 seconds to dry her hair when she needed ten minutes, and was just so tired. I knew that because I have seen that face in the mirror. The grandmother, in her soothing, hip tone, told her that what she was doing was very difficult and that she was a wonderful mother. The mother had teary, red eyes, but she nodded. She looked at her coffee and was still. I hoped she had left herself a few minutes to sit by herself before heading on to her office.

When I walked out the door, I felt pulled back in. I’m probably never going to see those two mothers again, but something tells me we could have helped each other, could have needed each other.