What I saw

A few weeks ago, I met Lisa (I've changed her name) at a La Leche League meeting that I got to by chance, just because I happened to be at the library the night of the meeting. I used to go all the time, but stopped after Audrey weaned, and haven't needed as much support this time around with Aislinn. But I stopped in to see some old friends and maybe make some new. Lisa is in her early 20s, and her daughter Sara (also not her real name) is 13 months old...but the size of a three-month-old, and somewhat developmentally delayed. I learned that Sara had been premature, the only one of a set of twins that survived, and that Lisa was a single mom.

The next week at church, I was surprised but pleased to see Lisa again. During her pregnancy, she had sought help from the local crisis pregnancy center, which is largely supported by our church, and had been invited, I assumed, by the center's director, who is a member. We chatted a bit, and over the next few weeks I made a point of seeking her out. She seemed to need a friend, and she had lots of questions about breastfeeding, which I was happy to answer and shared some of my own struggles and experiences. Last week, we both participated in the Walk for Life, an event that raises money for the crisis pregnancy center. She shared some more of her struggles...trying to go to school, hold a job, and take care of Sara, as well as dealing with some of Sara's continuing health issues, was draining her physically, mentally, and emotionally. She confided that she had tried to get into counseling because she had been afraid of some of her responses to Sara, afraid that she would hurt her, but the low cost counseling center in our town did not have any hours that worked for her schedule. She also told me she was going to start going to a special program called Choices, a program for single moms that helps them by providing childcare while they work and/or go to school, provides mentor moms, and offers training in such areas as budgeting, parenting skills, etc. This all sounded good, though I encouraged her to keep seeking counseling that would fit in her schedule.

One other thing I had learned through the grapevine at church: Lisa had planned to give Sara up for adoption at birth. When Sara was born so early with such serious health problems, the adoptive parents backed out, and Lisa decided to keep her.

Tuesday evening, I was at church to meet with someone and pass off some AWANA materials. I met my friend in the nursery so my kids would have something to do to keep them out of our hair. Ironically, the Choices program was meeting that night, at our church as they always do, and the director of that program, Kate, came into the nursery and introduced herself to me, and checked to make sure we would be done in the nursery by the time the moms would need to drop their kids off there. My friend and I talked AWANA for about an hour, and then Lisa came in with Sara. We were almost done, so I greeted Lisa, who was excited to tell us that Sara had taken her first steps that day, which was very exciting since Sara is delayed in some of her motor skills. Lisa stood Sara up and said "Show them, Sara! Show them what you did today!" Sara grinned, giggled, and dropped to her knees. Lisa tried again. No dice. I told her not to worry about it, that lots of kids don't like to "perform" this way.

Lisa tried one more time, and when Sara dropped down to her hands and knees again, she scooped her up, spanked her on the bottom, and swooped her over to another part of the room, and said "I hate you!"

At first, I thought the spank was playful and the "I hate you", however inappropriate, was meant to be a joke. But Lisa repeated, "I hate you, I hate you! Stupid baby!" Then she walked to the adjoining room in the nursery, slammed the bottom half of the Dutch door, and glared at Sara.

My friend and I looked at each other awkwardly. I was numb, could not believe what I had just seen and heard. We finished up our conversation, and I gathered up Audrey and Aislinn to take them home.

As I walked by the sanctuary and fellowship hall, where the other moms, babies, and program leaders were having dinner. My mind still reeling, I saw Kate, remembered how kind she had seemed in our earlier conversation, and veered into the room, not even thinking to tell Audrey where I was going. I asked Kate if I could speak to her, and at the back of the room, I confided what had happened. I explained that Lisa was my friend, that I knew of her situation and that she was struggling, and I had not known what to do. I don't remember what Kate said. I was still in shock, I think. I do know that she was reassuring, said I had done the right thing to tell her. I also think she may have said she would have to report it. I don't know if she was going to talk to Lisa, but that is what I was hoping she would do. I left the sanctuary to find Audrey frantically, almost hysterically, looking for me, afraid I had left without her. I scooped her up and hugged her until she could hardly breathe.

I haven't seen Lisa since then. I had been afraid she would call me, yet somehow hoping she would. I don't know if Kate would have told her how she learned of what happened, but it would not be hard to figure out. I don't even care so much if Lisa is upset with me, except that I felt that we had been forging something of a friendship. I thought Lisa had seen me as a role model. Why didn't I just talk to her myself, ask her if there was something else going on that day that she needed to talk about? I could have told her that we all have bad days, and that even I have had terrible moments when I was afraid I would hurt one of my children. I could have once again urged her to get counseling. What if Kate didn't confront her in the kind but firm way I imagined she would? What if she reports Lisa to child protective services, and Sara is taken away from her? I'm not in favor of children staying in abusive homes, but her situation is unique: Sara is not eating solids very well, is allergic to dairy, and refuses soy formula. She still gets most of her nutrition from breastfeeding. If Sara is taken away from her mother, her health problems could quickly become worse.

I do not want to excuse Lisa's behavior, and I'm very worried about Sara, but I also have great sympathy for Lisa and the stress she's going through. She may well feel guilty for having considered giving Sara up for adoption. She may sometimes still wish she had given her up for adoption. I do know, from other conversations we've had, that she loves Sara very much. She told me once how one day she could not find Sara in the house and frantically looked all over for her until she found her under the sofa. She said she did not put her down the rest of the day, and even took her to bed with her.

I am a little afraid of seeing Lisa at church on Sunday, but I'm even more afraid of not seeing her, and what that might mean. I know she needs help, and though I do think I had no choice but to tell Kate what had happened, I wish I had talked to Lisa first.