By Sarah Hauser
@sarah.j.hauser

I walked into the restaurant, my pregnant belly arriving minutes before the rest of me. “Multiples group?” I asked the hostess. She led me toward the corner where a few tables were pushed together and about ten moms sat around chatting. 

It was my first time meeting most of the women there. I had just joined the group shortly after finding out I had two little ones on the way. A few other twin mamas I knew suggested getting plugged into a moms of multiples group, and, to be honest, I was skeptical. I had a strong community around me, family who lived nearby, and plenty of other mom friends. But I agreed to check it out. 

I took my seat as gracefully as I could—which wasn’t very graceful at all (picture a whale attempting to sit on a bicycle seat). After a few smiles and handshakes, one of the leaders of the group asked everyone to introduce themselves. We circled around the table, taking turns sharing the ages of our multiples and a little about ourselves. My shoulders relaxed as I listened. This is what I needed, I thought. 

Our server brought out plates of appetizers and desserts, and we each settled into deeper conversations. I don’t remember how the topic came up, but somehow it did, and I ended up talking to another mama next to me about vaginal versus C-section delivery for twins and how she breastfed two at once. No, not just the fact that she breastfed twins, but practically how. 

In any other circumstance, this would be an extremely odd conversation to have. But what I was most afraid of while pregnant—and what turned out to be the most challenging for me as a new mom—was feeding my twins. This conversation about the difficulties and successes, the extremely practical and personal details none of us minded sharing, was one I so desperately needed. I needed to know it was possible to breastfeed two babies, and I needed to know it was okay if I couldn’t. I needed to hear from moms of twins who advocated for their vaginal delivery, and mamas who opted to have a scheduled C-section. I needed to hear from another mom not to be alarmed if the babies have to spend a little time in the NICU. 

I waddled out of that restaurant feeling encouraged, equipped, and understood. I left feeling less crazy about the fact that my initial response to finding out I was having twins was to research double strollers obsessively. I felt grateful for the fellow mama who literally explained to me how to nurse two babies, because before that conversation, I didn’t know if I could do it. 

My son spent a night in the NICU when he was born. It broke my heart, but I knew not to be surprised. I struggled to nurse my twins, but I had a group of women who could troubleshoot with me. When the babies’ crying wouldn’t stop, tandem nursing didn’t work, and one baby just had to scream while they waited to be fed, I knew I was not the only one who would later sit in the bathroom alone and weep. 

I had a group of women who got it. They understood. They saw the challenges and joys of parenting multiples in a way no one else could. 

We were in it together.

***

I went over to a friend’s house for a playdate. We stood around the island in the kitchen sipping tea and chatting while our kids played in the next room. “How are you?” she asked. 

It wasn’t just a small talk question. We had gradually revealed to each other how much we both wrestled with depression and other postpartum issues, and I knew her question deserved an honest answer. I could admit things with her I’d never told anyone else except my husband and my counselor, and we promised each other to call or text when the dark days felt unbearable. 

I often wondered if people would think I was crazy if I admitted what went through my head during that season. But I didn’t feel crazy with her. She understood. Neither of us wanted to be in this battle against depression, but at the same time, I was relieved I didn’t have to hide it. I didn’t have to bear it alone, and I didn’t have to try to explain how life could feel so dark even when it looked so good. 

We were in it together.

***

It was New Year's Day, and my family gathered at my sister’s house to celebrate. But the evening turned chaotic, at least for me, after one of my kids threw an epic tantrum in front of everyone. For a few minutes, that child seemed inconsolable—as did I. Not knowing what else to do, I loaded the kids up in the car and promptly told my husband we had to leave now, in the middle of the party. 

I could feel my jaw tighten as I said that word now as forcefully as I could manage without raising my voice. It almost came out as a panicky growl, like a scared animal trying to protect itself. We walked to the front door, but thankfully before we left, family members convinced us to stay. “It’s okay. You’re a great mom. She’ll be fine.” 

The heat of the moment subsided, and we unloaded the kids again and got my tantruming one to settle down. Everyone went back to eating and chatting, and I retreated to an upstairs bedroom in tears. 

My sister came in as I huddled in the corner, my knees tucked into my chest and my head hanging down. She took a seat on the floor across from me. “I get it,” she assured. “It’s so hard. It’s just so freaking hard.”

I listened as she offered encouragement and reassurance. She was a few years ahead of me in parenting, but she could relate. I knew she understood the emotional exhaustion I felt. She’d been there, too. 

We sat on the floor for a few more minutes. I finally took a few deep breaths and wiped my tears as we walked downstairs to join the party. 

We were in this together.

***

Motherhood connects us in ways I never expected. We all have different stories, backgrounds, and experiences. No motherhood journey is the same, but we all know what it’s like to feel overwhelmed. We know what it’s like to feel tired. We know what it’s like to feel hurt, sad, lonely, misunderstood. We know the feelings of longing and loss, and at least to some degree we get it. 

Right now, in this strange season, we all understand what it’s like to parent our children during a global pandemic. That’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. Some of our experiences have been harder than others, no doubt. But this is a weird time when all of us—to some degree—have experienced disappointment, fear, anxiety, grief, or a host of other emotions we can’t quite put our finger on. 

We understand the challenge of unexpected homeschooling. We feel the collective grief hanging over the world. We know the frustration of not having play dates or in-person, grown-up conversations. We ache for each other’s sick loved ones, we worry for those we know in healthcare positions, we empathize with the loss of income or the difficulty of working from home. 

We all get in some way that this. is. hard. This is not normal. This is not the way life should be. 

Usually about this time of year, we’d be talking about our annual Mother’s Day Brunch. We’d be inviting you to gather in your homes to talk, laugh, and share good food. We’d be providing recipes to cook for a group and offering resources for entertaining. 

The truth is, we have no idea what life will look like by Mother’s Day weekend. In many places, we likely won’t be permitted to leave our homes, and we may all be trying to cook from pantry ingredients. 

Yet we still want to remind each other that we are not alone. We still want to celebrate motherhood and offer encouragement to our community. It’s just going to look a little different than we planned.

This year, we’re inviting you to host a virtual brunch on May 9th, the Saturday before Mother’s Day. Plan a group Zoom call or FaceTime with a friend. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and make your own individual coffee cakes to enjoy while you chat. Laugh at memes together or cry if needed. Ask one another, “How are you really doing?” Make space for the honest answers. 

In this season, it takes a little extra creativity to connect, and we want to help with that. Head over to our brunch page to get access to our virtual brunch pack, where you and your friends can get recipes, a playlist, and some pretty artwork to remind you we’re in this together.  

Our goal at Coffee + Crumbs has always been to help mothers feel safe, known, encouraged, and loved. This pandemic has not changed that goal; we just have to do things a little differently. So we hope you’ll join us this year to connect with and encourage the mamas in your life despite our social distance. 

Maybe now more than ever, we need to be reminded we are in this together—and that “this” will not always mean pandemic. 

But it will always mean motherhood.

Photo by Ashlee Gadd.