The First Goodbye

In some ways I think I stopped maturing when my mother died. That's unfortunate considering that I was only 21 at the time, and the big thing in my life that year was that I could finally go to a bar. I tried to get in once with a fake i.d., but I'm so bad at lying the bouncer laughed at me and I never tried again. Having the emotional maturity of a 21 year old is fine if you're 21, but it doesn't necessarily help you handle some of the more complex phases in life, once you move beyond last call. When I first met Maury, I was approaching the perimeter of one of those phases: to baby or not to baby.

Maury and her husband moved to Vermont to teach at our school, and Sam and I were really excited about their arrival. We often found ourselves in sort of a social No Man's Land at work: not as old and as settled as the lifers, but not as young and unsettled as the post-college transients. When Kirk and Maury showed up, married and looking to settle in the Valley, and they brought their skis and their bikes, and Kirk's homebrewing equipment, we felt excited about our potential compatibility.

We had an easy time talking and hanging out with them right from the start. On one such occasion, they came up with some other friends for a moonlight cross-country ski. We were kid-less then and such things were easy. The dogs were happy in those days. We skied the upper loop and then came back to the house to sit by the fire and drink some wine. I think that was the first time I started to know Maury was pregnant because she respectfully declined: a dead give away for Baby on Board. On another occasion, after she was out of the closet, there was another bottle of wine for us, and another No Thank You for Maury.  That was when I was really wrestling with whether or not I wanted to have a baby. All I could think about at the time was how much I would have to give up. I remember saying to Maury, "I just don't think I could go 9 months without wine." She smiled, graciously, and explained that for her it was easy, a worthwhile sacrifice in exchange for a healthy babe.

That's what I'm talking about when I say I had the maturity of a 21 year old. It was like she was speaking a foreign language. Nine months…no wine? When the ladies at school had a baby shower for Maury, I had some other commitment and couldn't make it. I contributed to the group gift and that's about all I did. I didn't get it. I didn't get, at all, what I was supposed to do to be a friend in that process. Mentally, I was still at UVM my senior year trying to decide which bar to go to. I realize I'm starting to sound like a lush and I'm not. I just don't always understand the things I haven't experienced yet. And, as all my friends who had kids before me will attest, I really didn't understand the baby thing.

After Eliza was born, I was curious. I tried to hold her once or twice, but she screamed…and I mean screamed. If I so much as looked at her for more than a second or two, she panicked. It was payback, I knew. Babies, like dogs, have good instincts about people, and Eliza was right about me.

Eventually, as has been well established by now, Sam and I pulled the goalie and our own baby process was underway. I didn't tell anyone at work until I was halfway through. Sometime in there, I saw Eliza with Kirk. I looked at her, and she screamed. And Kirk, trying to make light of the situation, said, "You should probably just stay away from babies, Kerry!" Oh great, I thought, I'm screwed.

But, I wasn't because people like Maury helped me figure it out. And Maury, in particular, did more for me than I ever deserved. First of all, she never asked me any stupid questions about why I wasn't drinking, and she also didn't ask me any questions when I occasionally did. Maury actually made it to my shower and, in addition to contributing to the group effort, she gave me a little pumpkin hat that she had knit for Quinn. Most amazing of all, as my maternity leave was coming to an end, and I was literally sick about the notion of leaving my tiny, three month old baby with strangers, Maury offered to take care of her. Her own babe, another September girl born a year ahead of Quinn, was just big enough that she could do fun things and go places, and walk and talk. And yet, Maury was willing to rewind...she was willing to go back to being stuck in the house with an amoeba, in order for me to go back to work with peace of mind.

And I did have peace of mind. When I dropped Quinn off, I didn't worry…I knew she would be safer and better cared for with Maury than she was at home. And I'm not exaggerating…you've read the one about "noise in your britches," right?  In case you haven't, let me summarize: when I'd pick Quinn up, she was either sitting in a comfy chair with a blanket over her lap while Maury read to her, or she was sleeping peacefully in Maury and Kirk's room. (Quinn didn't nap for me until spring, after Maury taught me the value of white noise, and I remembered that Chelsey had given me one of those noisemakers and I pulled it out and tried it. Voila!) When it was time to go, I'd reach for Quinn and she'd cling to Maury. Maury calls her Peanut, in the sweetest, softest voice, with just a hint of Mississippi. She is pretty, and gentle, and very smart. Frankly, even I find her irresistible.

Once, in the middle of winter, I showed up to pick Quinn up with her new car seat. I thanked Maury and said goodbye. I shoved Quinn into the chair and wrestled for five or ten minutes trying to figure out how to buckle her in. Then I went back to the door and asked Maury for help. She brought Eliza out in the cold with us and showed me how the car seat worked. Once it was warm out, and it was time to take Quinn for her maiden voyage in the baby jogger, I brought it to Maury's so she could show me how it worked. These might seem like minor things to those of you who are mechanically inclined, or who have grown kids or no kids at all. But for someone like me, who has the emotional maturity of a college student, and whose only skill is spelling, Maury was, literally, a lifeline.

By the time I learned to really appreciate her and value her friendship, I found out she would be moving...to Tennessee. And she's moving soon, before I'll have a chance to repay some of the many kindnesses and long before I'm ready to lose her.

And Eliza, who used to scare me, is now one of my favorite people on the planet. She's probably the funniest kid I've ever met. When it was my turn to babysit her, and she just wanted to be with her mom, she'd go and find my keys and hand them to me. "Thank you!" she'd say as she patted me on the back. "Bye bye." Once, when I had both girls, Quinn sneezed. Eliza was cruising across the room to get something, but she glanced back over her shoulder at Quinn and, in this serious little voice, said "Salud, Quinn! Salud."

The thing I most appreciate about Eliza, of course, is that she loves Quinn. I'm talking Big...Enthusiastic...Love. While Quinn and Eliza probably won't remember each other, beyond the stories that Maury and I tell them from our far away homes, it's been an incredible experience to watch the girls become friends. And, for me, it's been an incredible gift to have a lovely and gracious friend of my own, with whom to share these early days of mothering.

I've never been good at goodbye, but I'm going to try to hold it together in front of the girls, because they won't understand, just yet, how incredibly important good friends are.

Good friends get down to your level when you don't yet know how to rise up to theirs.

And they support you, without passing judgment, while you try to figure things out.

Good friends spring into action to help you.

And they hold your hand if something manages to make you sad.

Good friends have the ability to pick you up when you're down.

And they're not afraid to show they care.

And that's what makes it so hard to say goodbye. Because with all the bad stuff in the world, you want to hold onto the good stuff. You want to keep those friends close by long enough to repay all their kindnesses, and show them how much you love them back.

Eliza, we're gonna miss you...a lot. Gobble Gobble Gobble.

And Maury, I'm not really sure how to say thank you for taking care of my new baby when she was so new. And, I'm also not sure how to put into words how much your friendship has come to mean to me.  I'll always be profoundly grateful...I miss you already.

And if, by chance, you don't want your kid's picture on the internet, just say so and I'll print this for you and take it down :) xo