I’m sorry for staring at you in the grocery store this afternoon.
I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable while you were scanning your cereal and diapers and orange juice at the self-checkout.
You were just so beautiful, with your impossibly long legs and flat stomach, and clothes without stains. I just wanted to be you: effortless, beautiful, perfect.
I’m sorry for staring at you at soccer practice this morning.
I wasn’t judging you for being late or barking at your kids as they tumbled out of the minivan still getting dressed. I noticed your husband, and your wedding ring, were missing. I just wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how without offending you, while my perfect husband stood near by. I was just in awe of your strength, and how you picked up the slack , when your supposed partner in the world’s hardest and most worthy endeavor didn’t show up at soccer, or in your marriage, or in your kids’ lives.
I’m sorry for staring at you at the urgent care last week.
I wasn’t worried that your kid’s runny nose or barking cough was contagious. Okay, I was a little. But mostly, I could tell you’d been up all night, waiting, worrying, pacing, comforting, beating yourself up for not leaving work early to take her to the pediatrician during office hours yesterday. I just wanted to tell you, “It’s okay, you’re doing your best, and that’s good enough for her.”
I’m sorry for staring at you in Babies ‘R’ Us yesterday.
I didn’t mean to be one of those people a heartbeat away from inappropriately touching a stranger’s pregnant belly, sharing my 20 hours plus a c-section birth story, or spewing unsolicited advice about diapers, homemade baby food, and God knows what else.
You were just me 6 years ago. I could see the joy, the discomfort, and even a little bit of trepidation on your face all at once. And I remembered when it was me wandering those hallowed miles of aisles of baby gear, armed with Consumer Reports printouts in one hand, and the parenting guide du jour in the other.
I wanted to tell you that peepee teepees just fall off and you still get sprayed in the face by baby pee, but that you absolutely need the little newborn mittens so your infant doesn’t look like he got in a fight with the cat. I wanted to say save your money on the wipe warmer, but spring for the organic crib mattress. But most of all, I wanted to tell you, “You got this. Trust your instincts, love your child, and enjoy this time. Before you know it, you’ll be a seasoned vet staring at a younger, pregnant version of you, remembering how exciting and scary and wonderful it all was.”