The best mother she ever had

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The best she ever had

As told in a Mother StorySLAM in Seattle

When my daughter Madeleine was born back in the day before Amazon delivered nipple shields, nursing bras, and groceries to your doorstep, the sage women who surrounded me — my midwife, my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, my good friend Susan — all admonished me to stay in bed and take it easy for at least two weeks.

I did not listen.

What happens when you don’t listen to sage advice

Somehow, I got it in my head around day five postpartum that I needed to go to the grocery store several miles from my house. I needed to 1) get nursing bras to accommodate my exploding chest and 2) buy groceries, even though my mother had filled the pantry, the refrigerator, and the freezer.

I waited until everyone left the house, bundled up the baby, and drove to the store. Or floated. It is unclear to me even today.

With the baby in her car seat in the shopping basket, I wandered aimlessly down the aisles, randomly pulling useful things off the shelves: evaporated milk, marshmallows, and, for some reason I can’t imagine, pickling spice. I must have forgotten about the bras.

As I checked out, I felt a sense of pride, a confident new mom taking care of business. I smiled widely as two elderly ladies behind us cooed at my beautiful daughter — and pooh-poohed when one tenderly asked, “Shouldn’t you be in bed, honey?”

I remember thinking as I took everything out of the shopping cart and put bags in the trunk, “I can do this.” I wasn’t sure before my daughter’s birth that I was cut out to be a mother. But here I was, doing it.

A fateful discovery

I jumped in the car and started to race home, hoping to get there before anyone else and thus prevent a self-care lecture. But about 10 minutes into the drive, I realized something wasn’t right. Looking into the backseat, it took another half-minute to fully comprehend that neither the baby nor her car seat were in the car.

Is there a word to describe this discovery? Panic is a pittance by comparison, and hysteria feels too light. Crazed might come close. I hit the gas and flipped a U-turn so fast and hard it left tracks and smoke. I could barely see the road between my tears and terror.

The “I’m not so sure about you” the author’s daughter gave her at birth. Photo courtesy Cheryl Murfin

Speeding ticket worthy

In two minutes, I covered the 10 minutes back to the store parking lot and nearly pulled the door off its hinges trying to get out of the car. Across the parking lot I saw a crowd circled up and I barreled through it to find my sweet baby looking up at me from her car seat on the ground. Or just looking up—she was so new her eyes weren’t yet really focusing.

I repeat: On the ground.

I threw myself over the car seat like the hero I was not. That’s when I heard:

“Is this your baby?”

The police officer’s voice was kind but firm. She was tall and big with a grandmother’s face and an unholstered gun.

It was hard to answer, given that I was hyperventilating. But, eventually, I think I howled “Yessssssssssssss!”

She broke up the crowd with a few short words, sending the cashiers back inside and the rubberneckers back to their cars and their destinations. Then she knelt beside me and asked with a compassion I don’t think I’ve heard matched since:

“Your first baby, right?”

She took my name, address, phone number, driver’s license. She asked me Madeleine’s name, her birthday, her father’s name. Her face was serious, calculating, I was sure, the number of laws I’d just broken.

Then came a stern: “Come with me.”

I picked up the carseat and she helped me up by the arm.

I got ready to be handcuffed and shoved in the back of her cruiser, which was pulled up to keep other cars away from my newborn.

Instead, she led me to my own car, which was still running across the parking lot like a get-away vehicle.

“You are going to drive home,” she directed. “I’m going to drive behind you.”

It was the longest, slowest drive of my life as visions of Child Protective Services coming to take my baby away overwhelmed me and the cop kept close on my tail. I was devastated by the thought that she would call my not-yet husband, and he would run back to Russia — with my baby. By the time we reached the house, I was bordering on hysteria again, unable to stop the tears.

A grandmother knows

The officer looked at me sternly, and I realize now with a slip of mirth.

“Show me this baby’s room,” she said. She was, I’m sure, checking to see if this was, in fact, my baby and/or to discover other evidence of my lack of parenting fitness.

“Just wanted to make sure you got to the right house,” she finally let out what I thought was a laugh.

“Listen,” she put away her writing pad. “I’m not going to write you a ticket or call CPS …” Then, further reading my mind, “or call your husband.

“In return, you are going to get back in that bed and stay there until you’ve gotten enough sleep to safely care for your beautiful baby. I don’t care who you have to call how many times. If you need help, call me. I’ll find you some.”

“We’ve all been there,” she smiled then.

I gushed out my gratitude.

“Oh my GOD, thank you, thank you. I am going call your chief and tell them how incredible you are …”

“I do NOT think that is a wise idea,” she cut me off.

Clearly, I had not fully understood the gift she was giving me. She was not going to report my child’s abandonment at all.

A request to pay it forward

“But here’s what you will do,” she smiled and put her hand gently on my shoulder. “Someday, you will see a struggling new mom who believes she’s won The Worst Mother in the World Award. And you will tell her, ‘No, you are not that mother,’ because I categorically won that award in 1995!” She laughed a big hearty laugh.

“And I hope you will laugh too when you tell her,” she added.

I will never forget that officer’s name, her compassion, or her understanding. And I have never forgotten her parting words to me as I stood holding my precious girl.

“No matter what mistakes you make as a parent, remember, you are the BEST mother this baby has ever had.”

In a strange twist of fate, my work for the next many years focused on brand-spanking new parents as I help them prepare for birth and the postpartum period. More than 29 years later, I do, indeed, cherish those late-night phone calls from stressed new parents.

Remembering that police officer with a halo around her hat, I tell them my story and what they most need to know. They are the best parents their baby ever had.