The long winter
Maternity leave in the deep freeze of 2025 hits different.
I won’t soon forget the experience of “wintering” through my parental leave with our second baby.
My first parental leave took place over the Summer months and into the early Fall. The days were long, the sun was hot, and the air dripped with a slowness brought on by droning cicadas and our endless newborn blur. Still, baby boy and I got outside almost every day for a long walk, escaping the blowing air conditioning and a sink full of bottles for an hour or so. Often, we found ourselves meandering a mile down the road to the local bakery for a freshly baked croissant or kuign-amann and some conversation with the other new moms in the neighborhood. There was an obstetric surgeon from California, a tech salesperson from Michigan, a lesbian artist from Brooklyn, and a marketing manager who’d bloomed right in the same zip code where she’d been planted. We met by chance, struggling with bulky strollers and the big wooden bakery door that opened outward after a concrete step up. Those who have maneuvered a stroller in this setup will know it is almost as good as a sign that says “babies keep out!” We leant each other hands to open the bakery doors, eyes to watch the babies waiting patiently outside, and then ears to share the fears, tactics, and travails of early motherhood. Those early days with big brother were tough physically and mentally, but the outings provided sweet relief during a lonely and unsettling period of matrescence.
Flash forward a few years to when, a few weeks before baby girl came, I waddled into my OB’s office, swollen and panting, for a weekly check-up. Taking the last empty seat in the waiting room, I found myself next to a postpartum mother and her adorable little boy. She sparked a conversation, asking when I was due, and it turned out she had delivered her first baby a few years prior right around my October due date. Coincidentally she had also given birth to her second baby, the one cooing in the carrier, in June - the same month I’d delivered my son. We chuckled at the idea we had swapped timelines.
Considering my late October due date with a pause, the mother seemed to swish an idea silently around her mouth for a minute. When she decided to speak, she practically whispered, “I vastly preferred this Summer timeline for parental leave. I struggled so hard with being on leave in those dark Winter days…” I could tell by her tone she meant what she said, and I considered her words as a warning for what was to come.
The days and weeks surrounding baby girl’s October birth were stunning and brought the flaming hues of a vibrant and dry Autumn to our little corner of the Midwest. As we made biweekly treks to the hospital for lactation support group along a Victorianesque promenade studded with golden gems of bushes and trees, I’d bathe in the sunny warmth of the beautiful Autumn with the windows down. Newborn bliss. As the Fall progressed, we took festive trips to the pumpkin patch and later to the Christmas tree farm, relishing in a merry holiday season as a family of four.
The only hints of what was to come were held in the sun, leaves, and temperatures, all of which began to drop in unison.
Then, the real winter hit.
This winter has been absolutely brutal in the Midwest. It’s the worst I can recall since growing up in the New York State snow belt. In January, I don’t remember a single day where we didn’t get some snow. And in February the cold and freezing rain came on alternating days, so we shuffled across a sheet of ice, anytime we walked outside. The sidewalks in our neighborhood have been impassable; the only place you can walk is in the street, which certainly doesn’t feel safe with an infant in a stroller. And that’s if you can get down your driveway to begin. Trapped indoors, the grey skies cast a dim and depressing light, making the living room feel like a cage with its walls collapsing in.
Don’t get me wrong. There have been some beautiful snowy days and hours spent playing outside in fresh powder. Our toddler is obsessed with throwing balls, running after balls, collecting balls, BALLS, and so making snowballs has been a revelation. After a big new dumping of snow, we’ll see our neighbors dragging their children in sleds on the sidewalk - their own makeshift sleigh rides, with horses replaced by weary parents.
After a few days, however, the snow is back to its disheveled state: packed and patchy, slippery and slushy. The opposite of a Hallmark movie. The kids and their grownups retreat back indoors.
Suffice to say, I have not met many new moms on this parental leave and I haven’t been eating croissants. Leaving the house with a tiny being feels both logistically and emotionally challenging. Because there are also the persisting horrors: The political upending of our infrastructure, the ongoing dismantling of peace, order, and any sort of social support. The abundant outward hate towards women. The racists emboldened to not just walk among us, but to saunter and yell and throw rocks and much much worse. I need not go on. You’re living this, too.
Online connection can serve as a bit of reprieve from the social isolation of a long winter on leave, but it’s dicey. Tucked in bed or on the couch, my fingers burn from sending out smoke signals to other moms in the two-under-two trenches, hoping we can spark a connection. There’s an app called Peanut, that makes matches just like any swipeable dating app, but for mom friends. I fly through my connections, but find my fingers flinching when I see a nice looking mom who describes herself with code words that imply she holds a series of problematic views and hateful ideologies I want to avoid. I can’t be the only one being more cautious about making mom friends these days - it feels risky and tiring, if I’m being honest.
And so, this winter has felt in some ways parallel to the one Laura Ingles Wilder wrote about taking place on the Great Plains in the late 1800s, her town buried in snow and cut off from freight rail. I spend days and nights worried for the well-being and security of my family, researching “bug out bags” and planning our spending and meals more carefully (for reasons other than the weather), while isolated from the world and stuck inside.
It’s not all doom and gloom, though. The long winter has given me ample time to get creative, to write this publication, to dream and scheme of a softer life, and to engage in new challenges, like “no buy.” I’ve started knitting (badly!) and I’m working on planning a backyard garden for the Summer. I’m told by the experts here on Substack that it’s not too early to start my tomato seeds indoors, even now, with the thick persisting blanket of snow on the ground. They require moisture and grow lights to sprout their first little buds.
And you know what? I’ve decided to treat myself the same way until I can be transplanted outdoors.
If you are finding yourself in a similar life season, please know that you’re not alone. I’m sending the hope for sunlight and warmer, happier days your way.
-LJ
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