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Two weeks after our first child was born my husband returned to work leaving me marooned with a tiny, mewling thing. I sulked with the baby on the steps of the Brooklyn Museum and watched as two African-American women in yoga pants and stylish summer scarves strode past pushing strollers similar to mine. Probably going to meet the other new mothers, I thought, at some hip new-mother club to which I hadn’t been invited.
The solitary confinement of new motherhood was not to my style. My childless friends couldn’t imagine the emotional havoc brought on by hormonal imbalance, breastfeeding, stalled ambition, clueless spouses, sleeplessness, sexlessness. Another mother appeared in front of the museum. Her child, older than mine, was taken by the fountain’s musical leap and splash. I half smiled and she teleported to my side. Here’s a transcript of our first meeting:
“Hi. I have a baby.”
“Hey. I have a baby too.”
“Wow. Can we be friends?”
“Yeah. Best friends.”
And so, Linh and I became best mommy friends.