Skirts that fit

In a city where they did not fit, they had their baby—the delivery room overlooked the Hudson River.

And they struggled against the rhythms of the city. Baby couldn’t cry, for fear of a noise complaint. Baby couldn’t sleep, with the pianist downstairs, the jackhammer outside, sirens down the street, and live music drifting through the window. Baby couldn’t eat out, because restaurants didn’t have high chairs—or tolerance for mess.

But with strict instructions not to touch the pee-covered sidewalk or garbage bags, Baby learned to walk, making friends with every doggie that passed by. Baby didn’t mind being quiet and learned to say, “sorry, neighbors,” every time a toy was dropped on the apartment floor. Baby learned to sleep through noise. Baby was taught to sit still in restaurants.

The endless thinking, analyzing, and hacking of city rhythms, wore Baby's parents down. Every milestone for Baby was a new restriction for them. Baby thrived, they struggled.

Baby moved to the Midwest—to backyards and kid-friendly restaurants. And Baby’s parents packed up Baby’s toys, and memories of this hard season. And when they look at photos, they find, still in boxes: the stress, the overwhelm, the questions that early parenthood in New York City brought.

—Reflections on Olive’s childhood. She’ll be 14 this summer, the same week we celebrate 10 years back in the Midwest. In many ways, I wouldn’t trade the city parks and miles of walking with our stroller. In many ways, I missed parts of motherhood because I was so stressed. We are really, really happy in the Midwest. :) And we cherish our NYC years.

And my skirts? They were born out of a desire to clothe this fashion-girly-turned-city-mama through some of her hardest years. Because in the stress and difficulty, she met her favorite girl—and got to spend every moment getting to know her. Cute, comfortable clothes would have brought a little more joy and a little less stress.