Honoring Endings
Photo Courtesy | Colleen Tirtirian
BY COLLEEN TIRTIRIAN
The doorbell rings and I hobble my huge, pregnant-with-twins blob of a body over to the front door. It’s a FedEx delivery man here with multiple, large boxes. I know exactly what this is: our stroller. But it’s not just any stroller . . . it is THE stroller; the one I researched like it was some kind of make-it-or-break-it situation. The one that I hemmed and hawed over before finally forking over an unspeakable amount of money. I remind myself that a sturdy stroller is the most important piece of gear because I am about to become a stay-at-home-mom in a city. This stroller will take us everywhere – from doctors appointments to coffee runs to grocery stores.
The delivery man helps me get the package up the front steps. Once inside, I thank him and close the door. I immediately get to work unpacking The Behemoth. I lay all the components out and it seems to take over our front room like some kind of lifeform and I have to show it who’s in charge. Putting it together is strenuous, but I figure the worst case scenario is that my water breaks. I reason with myself that it’s totally fine because I am ready to meet these babies. Plus, they’ve been inside long enough.
I continue building the stroller like a Lego master as I sweat and curse through the difficult bits. Yet, I am giddy at the idea that this simple piece of equipment will soon allow me to see the world through a new lens: the one of motherhood.
A few weeks after finishing the stroller assembly, it’s finally time to meet the babies. Induction day! At 37 weeks into this pregnancy, I am SO ready. It’s loads of Pitocin, stalled labor, followed by an unplanned c-section. Four days later and I am home with my babies, a newly minted mother.
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After a few days at home, we take our inaugural stroller walk to the pediatrician's office. It is there that the doctor tells me I should work on getting the twins on the same feeding and nap schedule. That was the goal, anyway. After some time, however, it is clear that they are just two completely different individuals and trying to sync their schedules will not work. So, how’s a new mom to get two babies to sleep peacefully so she won’t lose her mind? The stroller, of course. This was the only way they’d sleep simultaneously. These stroller walks became my reprieve during the noisy and nonstop days of feeding and burping and everything in between.
Walking around town with the stroller saved my life. This is not hyperbole. Had I not figured out that the stroller put the babies to sleep, I may have really lost it. Even on the days when the weather was intense, I put the babies in the stroller, and we walked. They would be lulled to sleep by the gentle movement and I would feel relief wash over me. On nice-weather days, I would find a bench, position the stroller in front of me, put my feet up on the metal frame, and unwind.
Other times, when it was too cold or rainy, I would walk enough so that they’d sleep and then head to my favorite coffee shop in town. The staff knew the babies and me by name and always accommodated us, even with the massive stroller. The coffee shop was a place where I felt taken care of. The barista, Brittany, who was there more often than not, always brought the coffee to my table and asked how I was doing. Genuinely asked. You find friends sometimes in the most unlikely places, and she was one who was a bright spot in those early days of motherhood. A friend for a season, but a friend, nevertheless.
These were the long days of motherhood; of meandering about town for hours at a time, overcome with exhaustion, completely depleted, yet somehow coaxed in a strange kind of comfort.
This main mode of transit, while I appreciated the ease it added to my life during that time, was not some kind of panacea for the struggles of motherhood. If only. At the end of the day, it was merely a stroller; just some seats on wheels. And yet, it sustained us like some kind of life force.
At some point, however, it became a source of physical pain. As the babies grew into kids, my back could no longer handle the heavy load of pushing them around town. And when that happened, I was eager to part with it in lieu of something else. At that time, I honestly couldn't get rid of it fast enough. I was tired of walking everywhere, of pushing them around. So, the children started on a new set of wheels: scooters. Once they mastered stopping at intersections and I was confident my “red light, green light” commands were fully understood, I became a hands-free mama. It was a new kind of freedom and it felt good.
So I listed the stroller for sale. I was embracing this new hands-free way of life. But what I didn’t realize when I put that listing up, was that the stroller was the last relic of baby life in our home. Parting ways with it was an official ending. I’d followed the winding path of new motherhood, a journey riddled with intense storms followed by smooth, easy travel. I thought I would hand off the stroller to its new owner with a sense of victory. Instead, as I worked on cleaning the parts, my eyes welled up as the realization hit me: There would never again be baby bottles, diapers or middle-of-the-night feedings. I had no problem letting go of any of the aforementioned, so why should this be any different? But giving the stroller up made it official: The baby years were done.
I was not prepared for the emotional response.
That stroller, the one that we used every single day, is now officially out of our lives. That stroller with its denim blue shades and side by side bassinets, converted later to seats, is a memory that lives in pictures now. Buying a stroller – no, obsessing over a stroller – may seem strange to those who use a car as their go-to transit, but for me, it was how I functioned; it was the only way to get anything done.
My kids now ride around town on scooters, weaving their way in and out of obstacles or other people. They are growing and we are growing together. I allow myself to live in the moment, to be excited for the future, and to accept that this chapter in my life is done. I’ve traded the baby years for a new kind of motherhood. The kind where children have big emotions over little things; the kind where we spend a lot of time on negotiations over what constitutes dinner food. I honor this ending and am ready for whatever comes next.
COLLEEN TIRTIRIAN is a mother, writer, editor, and New Jersey native, currently writing from her home office in Hoboken. She believes that sharing the journey of motherhood, especially taboo topics, can help to normalize the difficult moments we all feel from time to time. When she’s not writing and juggling mom-duty, Colleen enjoys playing guitar and crafting (specifically, miniatures). Some may say she’s a bit quirky, but she chooses to embrace her eccentricities and channels them into her creative endeavors.