It takes a village

I was reminded of this sentiment by Jennie in our ante natal group chat a couple of months ago, probably as we all asked each other why the wee bairns might not have been sleeping or why they wouldn’t stop feeding or why they screamed for no obvious reason. The fact is that it does take a whole bunch of people to pull off taking care of one solitary baby, because these gorgeous little monsters do not come with a manual (despite the number of people who’ve tried to write one). And computer often says no.

When I thought about a village bringing up children, I first thought of it as a thing of the past. Tom and I have a very different child rearing situation to the one my grandparents had when they had children. Back then, like in an actual village, family often lived on the same street or at least the same estate and they would constantly be popping in and out of each other’s houses. Doors were always open and no one knew who was where or doing what (my dad’s stories of being chased through a field by a herd of cows or nearly drowning in the River Tees before his age had hit double digits still blow my mind). The kids were multiple and the cash wasn’t plentiful, but in many ways life was really rich. The home cooking would later become the stuff of legend, and grandparents and siblings were like extra parents – everyone in the family took care of each other. After them, slightly migrating, my parents were a five minute drive/ 30 minute walk away from my grandparents, who looked after me most week days around nursery and school times. Being the youngest by the best part of a decade, my siblings too would occasionally each resemble an extra much more entertaining (and often more terrorising) parent.

Like a lot of people in London, we both left our hometowns and moved here in our early 20’s. So family time now comprises planned visits allowing for a two hour plus journey on the train and lots of time on the phone. Not one family member lives in walking distance. And so our village looks different to the one my parents and grandparents had; it spans a much wider geography and is as friend based as it is family. But I now see that a village, albeit sometimes a virtual one, is indeed what it is. And a village is not only what it takes to bring a child into this world (keep it alive, stay semi sane), but it’s what’s required just to get through life, with or without having a baby.

And we all, almost subconsciously, build our own bespoke villages over time. On top of family there might be mates from school and/or university, colleagues come friends, housemates and now, for us, a cracking ante natal crew too. These people, near and far, hopefully form some kind of basis on which you can depend: they’re a collective shoulder to cry on and the ones who make you see the funny side when the poo poo, once figuratively and these days more literally, hits the propeller.

Now, in these (unprecedented/ unique/ insert synonym that’s not been used a trillion times already and let me know if you find it) times of Coronavirus, it’s more apparent to me than ever that we are social creatures and that – to greater or lesser extents – our wellbeing does seem to depend on our interactions and connectivity with others. A smart person on the telly – whose name and position I can’t recall because I seem to have surrendered the better half of my brain to our baby in the growing of her – said, in these times of social distancing, “we need to be socially closer than ever”. And they were bloody right. The only way we are getting through this absolute shocker of a situation is together, as families and friends, a hodgepodge of villages, a culture and a species.

And although we cannot be together physically, when Tom was poorly we relied entirely on others: our family and friends constantly checking in on calls, FaceTime, WhatsApp and good old text; Tom’s mum posting what appeared to be the entire contents of her medicine cabinet; our brothers offering to travel to us just to deliver things; our amazing pal Ellen who is a paramedic and generously gave us her small amount of free time to offer instant reassurance; our local ante natal group who went shopping for us, threw extra goodies in the basket and dropped supplies and clean baby clothes on our doorstep; our neighbour collecting Tom’s prescription; our besties sending the get well Pasta Evangelists meal (damn that was tasty!); and my boss/buddy that posted a good old fashioned card. All the gestures big and small added up to make us feel fully supported at a time where not one person was able to offer hands on help because of the circumstances.

I know that not everybody will be able to draw on that same support in these isolating weeks and months. Some will be alone and without access to the technology required to close the physical gaps between us. They may not be able to gratefully accept generous offers of help with a simple thumbs up emoji. So it’s on all of us to identify those people around us and to make sure they know help is at hand, that they must only ask – and they really should ask and keeping asking.

I’ve become even more mindful that the best way through motherhood, through life and now through this, is – in my humble opinion – with some kind of network to support you. Many people or a select few, whatever it takes. And they are never more supportive than when you admit vulnerability and ask for help. If ever there was a time for us all to do that, it’s now. And once you’ve been reminded just how awesome people are, how innately kind and caring, and how strong the human spirit can be, you start to have a lot more confidence that we can and will get through this little shit show together.