By Jennifer Kennedy 
The last thing I wanted to do that chilly spring afternoon was look up. The bright children’s gym was a new routine for my toddler while I battled first-trimester fatigue. The week before I had clapped as he climbed, delicately protecting my growing belly. This day, I was no longer pregnant.
My mind was adjusting to my new reality, and my throat hurt from the emergency D&C intubation. If smartphones were a thing in 2009, I would have buried my face there. I would not have looked up.
That day with nowhere to hide, I looked up to see a mom wearing the same gray yoga pants and messy bun. I’m not sure who started the conversation but Nicole and I bonded over energetic boys and Italian families. The gym class conversations turned into backyard playdates. Our husbands coached our sons’ first soccer and basketball teams. We got to know and love each other’s families.
Through the next pregnancy, Nicole listened to my fears as only a fellow mom could. When my healthy baby was born she showered us with gifts and support.
The boys entered different elementary schools and chose other activities. Our paths were less intertwined but still linked. We met for drinks and birthdays. I never missed her annual Christmas party.
When our sons started high school in separate towns, we went in new directions but stayed connected. When I heard her beloved cat died I left a book about pet loss on her doorstep. Throughout life’s ups and downs, Nicole was always the first with a message of encouragement.
Last month, my husband and I took our oldest son on his first college visit. I was feeling all the emotions as we drifted through the massive crowd searching for open seats. As I sat down with a knot in my stomach, I was comforted by a familiar voice. In a sea of hundreds of people three hours from home, Nicole and her family were sitting behind us.
On a chilly spring day 15 years after our first encounter at that colorful kids’ gym, there we were again with our boys. She pulled up pictures from those early years. We reminisced over little faces wearing superhero bathing suits running through backyard sprinklers. We laughed at the tiny cleats and soccer socks that reached the bottom of oversized uniform shorts.
Nicole and I gushed over these young men towering above us, somehow ready to start this next chapter. She felt the same mix of happy and sad, excited and scared emotions all at once. I’m not surprised we were beside each other again when we needed it. God places moms in our path for a purpose.
On the car ride home I thought of the moms sprinkled throughout my 18-year journey. The playgroup moms, the preschool moms, the soccer moms, the neighborhood moms, the elementary school moms, the baseball moms, the HSA moms, the middle school moms, the band moms, the church moms, the high school moms. Some are there for a short stop, others the whole ride.
I met Christy on the playground while my baby napped in his carrier. I was behind on work and could have hidden behind my laptop. Instead, we chatted about life with two boys. Her youngest son was in the same pre-k class and her oldest attended the elementary school. She walked me through what to expect for kindergarten.
We sat together on the bleachers during sports and volunteered on the same committee at school. When the boys drifted to different teams, Christy and I met for walks down our town’s tree-lined trail.
My heart broke alongside hers when her mother died unexpectedly. I scheduled a night out to honor her mom’s birthday that year. When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, I wanted to give him a special memory. Christy helped me plan the perfect party and surprised me with a themed dessert.
On kindergarten orientation day, we stood together as our boys boarded the bus for their very first ride. Next year, we’ll share the same bittersweet emotions as they cross the stage in their caps and gowns.
On our walk last week, Christy filled me in on her oldest son’s freshman year of college and answered all my questions about the daunting admissions process. How lucky I am—from kindergarten to college, her advice has guided me every step of the way.
We are not meant to do motherhood on our own. We need other moms in our life, but to find each other . . . we need to look up.
Smartphones provide an escape at our fingertips. As a profile writer, I am naturally talkative and curious about people, but lately, I rarely look up. My to-do list usually wins as I answer work emails, schedule overdue appointments, or research the next article from my phone. Other times, I choose a mental break to scroll social media instead of striking up a conversation with someone new.
At the library recently, I passed the children’s activity area. A circle of oversized chairs surrounded a colorful table of toys and books. My heart sank as I noticed young moms on their phones seeking well-deserved solace while their toddlers played. I get it, but I hope they know the gift surrounding them on those chairs. Beside them could be years of friendship and support you can only get from someone else in the trenches of motherhood. New moms especially need other moms.
My best advice isn’t about breastfeeding or teething, it’s to find other moms. Join a playgroup, sign up for a music class, attend library storytime, introduce yourself at the playground, or exchange phone numbers at daycare pickup.
I hope no matter what is happening in their life they stop to chat with a mom wearing the same yoga pants and messy bun who may also be struggling with sleepless nights and picky eaters.
That could be exactly what they need on that chilly spring day . . . and another one 15 years later. I hope they see how God sprinkles other moms into our paths for a purpose. I hope they look up.
by Caroline Murray 
by Rachael Ramas 
by Ashley Case 
