blue eyes were sparkling like those of an expectant child.
“Do you love it? Are you surprised?”
She did love it, more for the effort than the aesthetic. She was also thinking that the old Spencer wouldn’t have cared how sweaty he was if sex was on the table. He would have jumped her right back. She was thinking about that again now, while tossing and turning.
She was well aware that she and Spencer had only had sex once since Lily was born. It had been too early and way too painful, and when she couldn’t finish, he was very understanding. She knew that her body was healed by now. She had reached her hand inside after a somewhat erotic part of the novel she’d been reading had stirred her. Everything was in working order internally, but she didn’t feel attractive. Being a new parent was taking its toll on her libido and, surprisingly, Spencer’s as well.
It’s probably normal, she thought. It would be a great post for one of those parenting groups she was on, but she worried hearing other mothers respond that their husbands were all over them, and vice versa, would make her feel worse.
Olivia found online forums addictive. She was still a member of an Upper East Side group from her brief mommy stint in the city and loved cruising through that one, too. It made her laugh now to compare the different tones of the two communities. The Hudson Valley feed was filled with ways to do it yourself, while the Upper East Siders were busy sharing referrals on who best to do it. Recurring themes on the UES group involved noise complaints from downstairs neighbors, nannies playing Candy Crush on their phones while their charges picked up syringes in the sandbox, and which sends the right message to a co-op board—a Kelly bag or a Balenciaga? The suburban ladies were more interested in debating the best age to introduce lacrosse, the scourge of the drop-off line at school, and whether the coveted Williams Sonoma redwood chicken coop delivers the most cluck for their buck.
Raising chickens aside, Olivia was surprised to find herself relating more closely to the Hudson Valley group than to the group based in the city where she had grown up. Having Lily really had her questioning the value of raising a child in Manhattan. If they had stayed, she was sure that Lily would be able to tell the difference between a Monet and a Manet by the time she was five, but she sometimes wondered if the accoutrements of the city were more for the benefit of the parents than for the betterment of the kids. She wondered if she would ever be sure. The feeling that the grass is always greener seemed to be a commonality among mothers everywhere.
But she knew herself too well. Her newfound zeal for the country was more likely due to her natural inclination to make a case for her choices. In the end, there were more similarities between any of these groups than there were differences.
Most groups boast ongoing threads recommending what books to read, which television shows to binge-watch, and which gastronomical treasures are must-haves from the shelves of Trader Joe’s. Much time is spent comparing strollers, private and public schools, and imperfect spouses, and all seem to share a great affinity for coconut oil, along with an abundance of suggested and sometimes sinful uses for it.
The groups felt oddly supportive for a sea of strangers. Olivia was more a liker than a poster, benefiting from the group’s perspective on a plethora of things from baby names to finding a new doctor to what is this weird rash on my arm. She knew, even right now, if she were to write on either site, “Help! I can’t sleep!” sympathy and remedies from A to Zzzzzzz would pour in. There was a strength-in-numbers effect that provided real emotional support. She was new to Hudson Valley but had noticed that the women on the Upper East Side were especially game to tackle any problem. Once a woman posted a photo of her daughter’s lost lovey, dropped somewhere between the Ninety-Sixth Street playground and their Sixty-Sixth Street home. It felt as if the whole of the Upper East Side banded together; they had it back by bedtime.
She did miss the level of adult interaction she’d had in the city, precipitated by walking everywhere. Getting in and out of your car all day doesn’t allow for much communication. Being