At age 32 I had decided to return to school and was accepted by a local university about 15 miles from my house. I would begin slowly, taking only one introductory class that first quarter, since I was due to have my third baby in August and school started in September.
On a hot day near the end of summer I took my newborn daughter Anna with me to the university to register. My oldest son was at school and my middle son stayed with a neighbor. I toted Anna on a front carrier made from heavy red fleece, and wore a large diaper bag over my shoulder, which contained baby products and registration paperwork.
I was exhausted and my nerves were frazzled. My newborn was waking up to be breastfed every couple of hours and I wasn't getting much sleep. I was nervous about going back to school; things like finding my way around campus and knowing where to park had me worried that I had taken on more than I could handle. I wondered why I was putting myself through this. I could be home with my baby, relaxing and playing with my two year old, waiting to pick up my five year old from school. But there I was with my tiny baby strapped to my chest, tired and sweaty, waiting in long lines to register for my one class.
I had breastfed and changed Anna in the parking lot when I arrived at the university, hoping that she would sleep until I could feed and change her in the car when I was finished. After waiting in the first registration line, I realized that Anna's diaper needed changing. I left the crowded, noisy, room and found a restroom. I squeezed into a corner next to the sink, put a blanket on the concrete floor and began changing my fussy daughter. Gorgeous young women breezed in and out with their carefree lives in tow.
I was a selfish mother. My brand new baby was on the floor of a public restroom. I tried not to make eye contact with the young coeds as they came and went but felt judged and out of place. Then a tall woman with dark wavy hair entered the restroom. She wore a blue skirt and a white tank top and looked to be in her mid 40s. She smiled and commented on my baby as I squatted on the floor. She asked if I was a student. I told her I was registering for my first class that quarter.
"You're doing the right thing," she said to me. "Your baby will be fine." She stopped and looked at me. "Listen," she said, and waited until I looked up over my shoulder at her, "you're doing the right thing."
I took a deep breath. "Thank you," I said.
