How I found my lifelong source of stress relief
My infant taught me a skill of self care that I still deploy 25 years later
I don’t know how I survived being a parent to a baby.
I don’t know how I survived being a parent to a colic baby.
Everyone talks about how hard the terrible twos are. How difficult it is to raise a teenager. I feel like whenever a baby is brought into a room, people fawn. They reach out immediately to hold them, to wink at them, to smile at them…to smell them despite the diaper effect. The majority of people rightly love babies but I am embarrassed to admit, I don’t need to hold them. I can admire them from afar. The truth is, I found my own kids to be in the prime of their charm between the ages of four and fourteen. I am thinking about this topic because my eldest’s 25th birthday is this week which is a catalyst to reminisce. This story has a happy ending but I earned it.
Let me tell you the conditions at the time my firstborn was introduced to this world.
I was 28. It was the dead of winter. My daughter was born on Superbowl Sunday. There was a large snowfall. I was living in a funeral home.
No wonder she thought she had to cry a lot.
We didn’t have a backyard to escape or to distract her. As a new mom, I was terrified that my baby’s crying in our upstairs apartment would disturb the families grieving below so I spent most of my time bundling us both up and walking, walking, walking outside during official funeral services and visitations. We walked so much that my pregnancy weight dropped quickly and I returned to my normal wardrobe within months. We were living in Mississauga (Ontario, Canada) at the time, and one day, I walked to the next city over, that being Oakville. Another day I walked two hours to Lake Ontario and back again which totalled four hours. One day my then-husband was writing his final exam to be a Funeral Director so the night before the test, I strapped Taylor in her car seat and drove for hours, until it was almost dawn so that my husband could get a good sleep out of earshot of the baby’s cry. Unlike most babies, Taylor never slept in the car. Just wailed. This helped keep me awake while driving and her Dad passed his exam with flying colours.
Lots of people gave me advice. They were well-meaning and I respected that but honestly, the advice was of no use. Gripe water. Burp the baby. Rub her tummy. Take her for a ride in the car. One person told me to snap her in her car seat and place the car seat on top of a dryer when it was running. The vibration would settle her down. Nope. Nope. And Nope.
The doctor told me nothing was wrong. Some babies are colic. She was right but that didn’t help me sleep at night. When I was on one of my strolls with her, one lady stopped me on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me”, she conjectured in a forced-polite tone, “Your baby is crying”.
As if I didn’t know! Her diapers were changed, she was fed. I took her to the doctor on schedule.
“Thank you”, I squeezed out in my counter forced-polite tone, and continued on my stroll.
Both my mother and my mother-in-law, two beautiful patient women, offered to help. After a family get-together in Coburg, Ontario, my mother-in-law graciously offered to sit in the back seat with Taylor for the ride home. She figured Taylor cried in the car because she perceived she was alone. After two hours, Merle climbed out of the back seat, in exhaustion, exclaiming, “I don’t know how you do it! Nothing worked!”
My own mother offered to stay a few days to give me a reprieve. Mom and Dad lived two hours away in my hometown of Listowel which meant she couldn’t babysit or help daily. I accepted gratefully. At least my ironing would get caught up! (Mom was the master of ironing). I remember on her first day, she said, “It’s not so bad. Taylor has hardly cried today”, to which I replied in abject misery, “It’s not 6:00 pm, yet”.
On the dot at 6:00 pm, Taylor exercised her vocal cords. And kept ‘er goin’ until the wee hours of the morning. Needless, to say, my mother was happy to retreat home at the end of the week. Not that she admitted it to me, but her dark eye-circles countered her smile.
An extraordinary thing happened one day.
I had to get the two of us out of the Funeral Home. It was the visitation for the wife of a very high-profile professional sports figure and I didn’t want any complaints of a disruptive wailing baby so I headed out. A new coffee shop, with a weird name I had never heard of, opened across the street. The idea of more caffeine to compensate for my lack of sleep was welcomed.
When I walked into this cute and cozy coffee shop, my senses were immediately soothed. There was a live folk trio playing music in the corner. The smell of brewed coffee soothed my soul. The ambience was delightful. The list of coffee combinations seemed endless… Latte, Cappuccino, Americano, Espresso, Cafe Misto, Caramel Macchiato. Caramel Macchiato!! That one stole my heart forever! (Skim milk, half pump syrup).
I waited, baby stroller to the side, while they prepared my Caramel Macchiato, as my body found its homeostasis. I felt relaxed and myself again. I almost didn’t hear my baby still crying. I didn’t want to disturb the peace for the other customers who had also found this oasis retreat so I headed outside to enjoy my treat. There was a fountain just beside the coffee shop with a lovely stone ledge to sit upon. I placed Taylor's stroller in full view of the water flow and…
And…
She stopped. She stopped crying.
I continued to enjoy my new beverage of choice in S-I-L-E-N-C-E.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I wheeled Taylor away from the water fountain, which resulted in the return of tears. Immediately, I swung her back in view of the flowing water and…
And…
She stopped. She stopped crying. Again.
It was the first trick that worked!
The next day, I tested the theory again. Caramel Macchiato, sip, fountain. Silence. So far so good. The next day, good. The next day, good. I don’t know who was addicted, me or her, but I didn't care and neither did she. We got through this together. Me, Taylor and Starbucks. Yup, that new coffee shop I had never heard of was one of the first Starbucks to open in Ontario back in 1997.
Twenty-five years later, I still walk into Starbucks, take one deep breath, and my body lets go of all things.
And even now, twenty-five years later, I look into Taylor’s eyes, take one deep breath and my body lets go of all things. She has become a source of pride, a source of joy, a source of elegance. While not every mother has the challenge of caring for a colic baby, not every mother has a daughter who is her best friend. I can’t begin to count the number of lessons she has taught me, the experiences we have shared. Taylor is not only an anchor for me, she is a faithful, steadfast friend to all in her circle. She has become a creative, professional woman who knows her mind, and whose smile can convince anyone to her side. It’s not uncommon for parents to brag about their children. It’s not uncommon for moms to think their children are the best, like no others on the planet. Please give me the concession this once, for it’s my daughter’s 25th birthday. How is it possible to incongruously long for the years gone by, wish you could do it all again and still, love where you are today?
When I remarried three years ago, Taylor stood at the altar with me as my Maid of Honour. Even fewer mothers can boast of that.
ADDENDUM
Look forward to a future blog where I explain how my Christmas Baby boy, Spencer, was the best present I ever received. And for the record, he was the easiest, cuddly baby you ever did see! Spoiler alert, he met my father and walked me the rest of the way down the aisle at the wedding. Not many mothers can boast of that either!
It’s weird how perspective and wisdom changes you. When I think of either of my children having their own, I don’t even flinch. I look forward to snuggling with their little babies and fulfilling the role of “Grandma Fun”. At the same time, because of the aforementioned story, I won’t be devastated if either of them decides not to have children. Lol.
Starbucks has not sponsored this blog. If they would like to, I will consider their offer. In fact, with my university theatre training, I am sure Starbucks sales would go up if they asked me to do one of their commercials. If they can’t use me in that capacity, I am sure a few pounds of Pike Place coffee beans would compensate me for the free advertisement I provided. They don’t even need to go through my agent. I will take a call directly from them (as my now-husband says, “Don’t ask, don’t get”).
