I snapped Amelia’s car seat into the stroller and fanned out the visor to keep out the sun and the wind, which were both persistent. Amelia slept undisturbed. I put on my sunglasses, pushed my hair out of my eyes, and headed for the zoo’s entrance.

I was the first to arrive, so I stood by the gate and looked out onto the parking lot. Soon, I saw Kate pushing her daughter, Abby, in an umbrella stroller toward us. I waved to get her attention. Abby was two years old; she was awake and smiling, sucking on an applesauce packet, her blonde hair in pigtails on top of her head.

“I like your pigtails, Abby,” I said as they approached. She gave a bashful smile and looked up at her mom. “Are you excited to see some animals?”

Kate reached down, ran her fingers through a pigtail, then answered, “You like the penguins, don’t you?”

“I like penguins, too,” I offered.

I spotted Jessie in the parking lot heading our way, her two-year-old daughter also riding in an umbrella stroller, wide awake, pigtails blowing in the breeze. She lived two hours away but made the trip over with her daughter, Josie, to meet Amelia and see us, her college roommates.

The three of us had been friends for fourteen years. Jessie was a stay-at-home mom, and Kate was a full-time working mother. I hadn’t been adjusting well to staying home with my two-month-old baby. Amelia wore me out all day refusing sleep and then wore me out all night refusing sleep. When she did sleep, it was in too short of intervals to get anything productive done or to get any rest for myself. My husband helped as best he could, but someone had to make the money, so the majority of the parenting fell to me.

I was more than ready to complain about the hardships of motherhood to these women who would surely understand where I was coming from, and perhaps get a little helpful advice from them, too.

Yet I was apprehensive. All three of us together, our mothering styles on display, would certainly illuminate differences. And I was the novice out of us three. I craved to be recognized as a capable mother by my friends.

I had offered my home as a place for everyone to gather, but because Jessie and Kate both had toddlers, they wanted something a little more interactive, something that would keep their energetic children entertained, so they suggested a zoo outing. Interactive was the last thing I wanted; taking care of Amelia was enough of a job, let alone having to do it in a public place. I wanted to stay at home because it was easier for me. They wanted to go out because it was easier for them. I was outnumbered.

We exchanged hugs and hellos. Jessie peeked into my stroller. “Is this Miss Amelia?”

“Yeah. She loves to sleep in her stroller. Sorry, you probably hoped to see her awake.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure she’ll wake up later.”

I tensed at the thought. If she woke up, she would be hungry. I wasn’t sure where I could feed her in the zoo. There weren’t any restaurants or sitting areas. If I did manage to feed her, she’d likely poop. I tried to remember where all the restrooms were but couldn’t think of one.

I shook off my anxiety and put my focus back on my friends.

As we roamed the grounds, Amelia snoozed silently in her stroller while Kate and Jessie crouched down and pointed out flamingos and bald eagles to their children. The three of us walked next to each other, pushing strollers along the paved pathways.

“The tiger exhibit is probably new since you’ve been here last, Jessie,” Kate said. “Should we head there?”

“Sure,” agreed Jessie.

The tiger exhibit was at the top of a hill. We climbed the boardwalk ramp that zigged and zagged at an incline; our stroller wheels bounced on the gaps between the wooden planks. I watched Amelia with every bump; after a minute, I felt confident she’d keep resting, so I allowed my mind to wander away from her and onto my friends.

“How is Justin liking his new position at work?” I asked Jessie.

“He likes his new responsibilities, and he’s got a good crew. But he’s working nights, so I make dinner and put Josie to sleep by myself. I wish he was home in the evenings.”

Kate and I nodded. Parenting was definitely more manageable with two.

“How’s work going for you, Kate?”

Abby pulled out a hair tie and one of her pigtails drooped slowly down the side of her head.

“Abby, why did you do that? Do you want your hair down?” Abby shook her head. Kate stopped and collected the hair into a smooth gathering. By the time we started walking again, we had all forgotten I had asked a question that never got answered.

Finally, we reached the top of the hill; we approached the fence and looked out onto the large cats lying lazily in the grass. Jessie unbuckled Josie from her stroller and lifted her up to the top of the fence. Upon seeing the tigers, Josie immediately began to cry. She wiggled down from her mother’s grasp and ran behind her legs, hiding her face.

Jessie laughed awkwardly. “It’s okay. The tiger can’t get you. Don’t worry.”

Josie only hugged her mother’s legs tighter. Jessie turned around and picked her up. Josie hid her head in Jessie’s shoulder.

“Maybe we should move on,” Jessie said. If it had just been us old friends, we would have lingered, leaning on the wooden fence, watching the giant cats pace back and forth in the sun. But it wasn’t just us, and our preferences didn’t matter as much anymore.

The tiger exhibit was the only thing to see at the top of the hill, so we turned around and made our way back to the boardwalk. Once a safe enough distance from the tigers, Josie’s tears dried up and she let go of her mother. Instead, she walked beside her on the pathway.

“You want to get out, Abs?” Kate asked her daughter. Abby nodded, and Kate unbuckled her from the stroller. Abby and Josie immediately went to each other’s sides and held hands as they walked down the boardwalk. We three mothers “awed” together.

Now that the children were walking, however, our pace slowed quite a bit. The lack of jostling disturbed Amelia’s slumber, and her eyes popped opened. Shit, I thought. At this rate, it would take an hour to get to the bottom of the pathway, and there was nowhere to feed Amelia until we got there.

Amelia looked up at the trees as she roused from her long nap, seemingly content for the moment, but I had no idea how long that moment would last. When it ended, she’d likely scream out in hunger.

“I’m going to run ahead and meet you at the bottom, so I can get a jump on feeding Amelia,” I said. I nearly sprinted down the pathway, weaving back and forth through the zigzag. “Don’t worry,” I said to Amelia, who silently looked back at me, “We’re gonna get you fed in just a minute.”

Once off the boardwalk and back on the pavement, my eyes searched frantically for a place where I could feed her. All I saw was a bench. I parked the stroller and plucked the diaper bag out from underneath it. Just as I was about to lift Amelia out of the stroller, bottle in hand, I heard footsteps. The rest of the group had already caught up with me. I hadn’t bought myself any time.

“We’re going to head to the aquarium next,” Kate said.

“Okay, I’ll walk over with you and maybe there will be a place to feed Amelia there.”

At the entrance to the aquarium, a sign warned “No strollers allowed.”

“That’s stupid,” I said. “Almost everyone here has a stroller. Why would they not allow strollers somewhere?” I wasn’t about to leave my stroller. It was my lifeline. It had everything I needed in case of a baby emergency. Kate and Jessie didn’t need their strollers. Their children walked freely. Their shoulders balanced purses, where my diaper bag was smushed into the small compartment underneath Amelia; it was the size of a carry-on.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll stay out here and feed Amelia.”

My friends took their daughters by the hand and disappeared through the glass doors. Happy to be alone, no audience nearby, I pulled her out from her stroller and dipped her back in the crook of my arm. The bright sun and a rush of wind made Amelia squint. I looked around for some sort of shelter, but there was none. There wasn’t even a bench around, so I made a seat for myself on the low stone wall outside the aquarium.

“I know this isn’t ideal, Amelia, but we’re going to have to make it work,” I said. I brought the bottle to her lips, but she shook her head, frustrated with the sun and the wind and not being able to see anything. I turned in another direction, so the wind would come at her from behind and not blow anything into her eyes. But the sun was still enough of a deterrent to keep her from eating. These insufferable conditions brought about wails and tears from my infant daughter.

I swung my feet up and placed them on the stone wall, so it looked like I was doing a yoga boat pose. I propped Amelia’s body along my thighs, so she was sitting mostly upright. Now I didn’t need my hand to hold her, so I fed her with my right hand and used my left hand to shield her eyes from the blazing sun.

She finally ate, but slowly, and my abs started to shake from holding a V position so long. Eat faster for Christ’s sake, child.

The bottle was nearly empty when Kate, Jessie, and their girls emerged from the aquarium. I was caught in my ridiculous feeding position, distorting my body to meet the needs of my high-maintenance eater. Embarrassed, I tried to rationalize the situation. “The sun was in her eyes, and she wouldn’t eat,” I said. My friends hadn’t criticized me or joked about what they saw, but they didn’t offer any empathy, either. In their silence, I felt like a chump of a mom who would bend over backward (nearly literally) to cater to her baby’s every whim; I appeared to be wrapped around my child’s tiny finger, forsaking my own comfort for hers.

Josie tugged at her mother’s jeans. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

Jessie dug in her purse for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich wrapped in plastic and handed it to Josie. Josie stood in the shade independently, holding her sandwich and taking bites. I was envious of Jessie’s freedom.

Amelia let out a loud fart.

I shook my head. “Nice, Amelia,” I said with sarcasm. “I guess we probably need a diaper change now, don’t we? You guys have any clue where the closest bathroom is?”

“There was one inside the aquarium,” Jessie said. “We’ll wait for you here.”

I shoved some of Amelia’s things back into her diaper bag and flung it over my shoulder. I carried Amelia through the aquarium, looking for a sign for the restroom. The bathroom was tiny. There was only room for one handicap stall and a small sink. The changing table was in the stall over the toilet. Don’t drop anything into the toilet, I thought to myself.

I took off Amelia’s pants and unfastened her onesie snaps. Her diaper was full of yellowish-brown feces that trailed all the way up her back.

“Oh, man, did it leak out the top of the diaper?” I wondered aloud. Once I got her bottom wiped, I checked the onesie. There was a small yellow stain halfway up her back. I should change her outfit, I thought. I shouldn’t keep my baby in a onesie that has poop on it. But it would take another couple of minutes to change her, and I had the wet cavern of a toilet taunting me below. Jessie and Kate were waiting with their children. I wouldn’t want to be kept waiting with my child. I put her pants back on and pulled them up a little higher to cover the stain. I threw the offending diaper in the trash, gathered my bag and my baby, and joined my party.

Back outside, Kate and Jessie were talking about what to see next as I loaded Amelia back into her stroller. Then I noticed a spot of wet white phlegm on her chest, soaking into her onesie.

“Did you spit up?” I said, checking her pants for more phlegm. “At least it’s not too much.” I wiped up the spot with a burp cloth. Then I looked down at my own shirt. Phlegm dripped down the front of my left shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. I tried to wipe it up with the burp cloth, but it was still noticeable. I sighed, my arms slacking and smacking against my thighs.

My friends were silent, looking down at their own daughters, perhaps so they wouldn’t look at me or perhaps because that was the only place they ever looked now.

Up until we became mothers, our dynamic had been consistent. We had seen each other graduate college, get jobs, get married. None of these changes made us feel different. In the past, when we were together, I felt a bit like I was in college again. No matter what was happening in our personal lives, things were “normal” with us, a certain way. But now there was something different. We had bigger responsibilities, more important obligations. We weren’t just focused on ourselves and each other anymore. Now we were focused on our children.

I wanted some of that college dynamic back in that moment. I wanted to sit on couches and eat ice cream and bitch about our problems together. I wanted that community, that comfort. I needed it. I needed someone to hold my hand, to say everything was all right, to relate to my struggles. But there was no time for that now. We could no longer take care of each other. All our caring energy was now focused elsewhere.

“Hey, guys, I think I’ve had enough adventure for one day. I’ve reached my limit. I’m going to take Amelia home. But you guys stay and have fun.”

Kate and Jessie frowned and said they’d miss me. I gave them each a half hug to avoid contaminating them with the spit-up on my shirt, then pushed the stroller toward the main gate. I heard Josie’s little voice behind me say, “I want to see the otters!” and Abby agree with an enthusiastic “Yeah!” I heard Kate and Jessie giggle before I turned the corner and headed for the car.

Their adventure continued. I wondered what Jessie and Kate would talk about now that I was gone. Would they talk about how much they pitied me, how much they didn’t miss the newborn stage? Would they discuss how I didn’t seem to be handling motherhood all that well? Would they make fun of me for the lengths I went to in order to feed Amelia, for the constant state of worry in which I resided? I was sure they said none of these things; I was sure nothing much changed after I left. I was even sure they didn’t notice how much I was flailing and failing, too wrapped up in keeping their own daughters happy. Yet I wouldn’t blame them if they had, if they had confided in each other, sympathized with each other, joked with each other about the harsh reality that was motherhood. That was what I hoped they would do with me while I was there. Now that we were mothers, we had closed ourselves off to each other, not on purpose, but we had all the same. And I felt alone, even among my oldest and closest friends.

-Jennifer Furner

Jennifer Furner has essays in the anthologies Art in the Time of Covid-19 and A Teenager's Guide to Feminism. She has been published in HuffPost Personal, Motherwell, Folks, Sammiches and Psych Meds, and others. She lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with her husband and daughter. For more of her writing, visit her website jenniferfurner.com.