perspective

I was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office today when a couple came in with their little boy and brand new baby girl. It was hard not to stare: The dad was tall and handsome; the little boy had these adorable curls, and the baby - SO cute in her little yellow pj's (size 0-3 months, no doubt). The mom was very pretty, too, in a Molly Ringwald sort of way - or at least I'm sure she was underneath the massive eye bags and cloud of utter exhaustion that hung over her.

Now that my own kids are school-aged, I look upon new mothers with the compassion of someone who has been through that particular war zone and survived (even if it sometimes felt like the survival was the "just barely" kind). Because while it is obviously beyond awesome to hold that new little life in your arms and nourish it with your body, new motherhood can also (in my experience and the experience of countless women I've known) be an incredibly lonely and sometimes scary place. The sense of responsibility you feel is enormous - which would be unsettling enough if you were well-rested. Add sleeplessness and all the attendant tension and hormones into the mix, and the situation can spiral downward quickly. And while I never experienced clinical post-partum depression, my hat is absolutely off to any woman who does.

Why am I blogging about this? I don't know exactly, other than I guess I realized today that I have the sort of perspective on the care and feeding of babies that I didn't think I'd ever have when I had babies of my own. Perspective is goooood. It made me want to sit down next to that new mom in the waiting room and tell her, "It won't always be like this. It will get better. You will get your life back. It may not ever be quite the same, and it will come back in increments, but it will come back. And when it does your heart will swell in compassion at the sight of an exhausted new mother, because by that time you will proudly wear the badge of someone who has been through that particular war zone and survived."

Of course, I didn't sit down next to her and say that, because the look in her eyes told me she might bite my head off in one clean snap if I did. That's probably the same reason no one ever told me. It's okay, though. I discovered it when the time was right.Follow @nicole_mcinnes

tough flowers

As Mr. Groundhog predicted last month, spring has sprung early here on the prairie. I planted these crocus bulbs several years ago, in a little patch of hard, rocky soil next to our pump house. But they're tough little blooms ready to herald the arrival of the Vernal Equinox next week, and each year they prove that they won't be deterred from doing their job, despite lack of pampering. I like that in a flower.

And speaking of things resilient and beautiful, yesterday I got to see some old playgroup friends I haven't seen since before we moved to the Bay Area for our year-long sabbatical. For the first few minutes of our brief reunion everyone just stood around marveling at how much all the kids had grown. One of these families has been a part of our life since our son was just a year old, the other since our daughter was younger than that. And there's something about forming friendships as a new parent that must provide extra glue; although I haven't seen these women in well over a year, it felt like we just picked up where we'd left off. It's nice to know those bonds transcend the temporary convenience of early childhood play dates because Lord knows we moms have all been to H-E-double-toothpicks and back in various ways since playgroup unofficially disbanded a couple of years ago. I may not live in a mansion, and I may not drive a Rolls, but these women remind me that I am rich with friends-for-life friends.

In other news, I'm still laboring daily at a draft the new book, which is finally deciding to cut me some slack. In this respect it's a far cry from my last novel, which seemed to spring to life almost fully formed, like Athena from the forehead of her daddy, Zeus. I was on fire with that last one, writing more often than not in what felt like a state of near-effortless inspiration. Little did I know how cushy I had it. But I'm excited by this new book, and it seems somehow fitting, given the gritty storyline and characters, that I should have to sweat over it a little. My dad commented the other day that I must be as busy as a one-armed paper-hanger, which is a figure of speech I like (and may use).

That's all from the Western Front for now. Time for me to don the helmet and flak jacket (i.e. sit at my keyboard and open up the draft file) again, 'cause "I'm goin' in."Follow @nicole_mcinnes