“And how old is June?” Karsha asked.
Duh,Gwen thought.Say more, you idiot.
“Sorry, June is ten weeks.”
“Great, we have a few babies right around that same age.”
Gwen did a quick scan of the babies, saw that a few did look to be the same age as June. A few were younger, just a handful of weeks old. Some were older—six months, nine months. If Gwen remembered right, this group was limited to mothers in their first year with their firstborn.
Karsha finally took her eyes off Gwen, turned back to the larger group, and said, “Okay, so does anyone want to start with a share today?”
A share.It was like they were in a twelve-step meeting, addicts looking for relief in each other’s confessions. Maybe it wasn’t that dissimilar, actually.
A woman a few seats over from Gwen raised her hand.
“Go ahead, Megan.”
Megan’s baby was one of the younger ones, a scrawny newborn swimming in his onesie.
“I just wanted to thank you all for your support last week. I think we’ve finally turned a corner with breastfeeding, and things are feeling better.”
A couple of women chimed in with “Oh, that’s so great” and “Yay!” This was clearly a group of breastfeeding enthusiasts, and Gwen was heartened to know she wasn’t the only one who had struggled with it.
“It was hard for me in the beginning too,” the woman next to Gwen said. “But I’m so glad we’ve stuck with it. We’re almost at three months, and it’s going so well now.”
This woman’s baby, a girl who was similar in size to June, was sitting in her lap, pawing at her mom’s shirt as if wanting a boob right then and there.
“Have you had any supply issues?” Megan asked the “going so well” mom.
“Not anymore. We’re all good now,” the woman said with a nervous laugh. She had to know being “all good” would evoke envy, bordering on hatred, in any gathering of new mothers.
For the next hour, the women talked about exactly what one would expect a moms’ support group to talk about—sleep (or lack thereof), going back to work, day care, introducing bottles, resuming sex with husbands. Gwen had been given the all clear to resume sex at her six-week appointment. It had seemed like that was the entire point of the appointment—for her male doctor to say, “All looks good. You can have sex!” Was there any woman alive who was eagerly awaiting that green light? At ten weeks, she still couldn’t fathom having sex with Jeff. Her C-section scar still felt tender. She had zero interest in anything going on below that scar, would have been fine if her vagina had just been sewn shut like her belly, likeno need for this thing anymore. Jeff had been patient, hadn’t even brought up sex, but she knew he must want it. They had been a twice-a-week couple before June was born, with the rare exception.
At the end of the meeting, they all stood from their chairs. A few chatted among themselves, clearly having become friends over the time they’d spent in the group together. A couple introduced themselves to Gwen, shaking her hand and sharing their names, which she immediately forgot. Everyone seemed nice, but she didn’t know if she’d come back.
“I think everyone here hates me now,” the “all good” mom whispered to her as she collected her things alongside Gwen.
Gwen smiled. “Hatemay be strong. Mild disdain, maybe. Personally, I like to hear it’s possible for things to go well.”
“Well? That may be strong. I’m slightly less psychotic than I was.”
The woman lifted her daughter in her arms, and Gwen did the same with June. They faced each other, their babies between them, little human buffers.
“I’m Leigh,” the woman said. “I completely forget your name.”
“God, sometimes I completely forget my name. It’s Gwen. I think.”
They both laughed and started heading for the exit.
“What did you think of the group?” Leigh asked.
“I don’t know. Something to do, I guess.”
“That’s why I started coming. Just a reason to get out of the house. Which is so sad, isn’t it?”
Gwen shrugged. “Everything feels sad, honestly.”
Leigh stopped, put her hand on Gwen’s shoulder. So Gwen stopped too. “Are you okay?”
