Pregnant for the first time at the very end of my 30’s, I was excited but also unsure about what to expect. My friends had either had their children years ago, or had decided not to have them at all. I didn’t have many people in my social circle who could share the experience of parenthood with me and wondered what to do about that.

In the meantime, I spoke to other parents about first steps. Once I had been told enough times to “get your sleep now because you won’t ever sleep again”, I was advised to procure a mountain of items intended to optimize my new life as a parent – onesies with zippers (not buttons), blackout curtains, and a white noise machine. One friend suggested I join a local email listserve for parents. I signed up, eager to find a path to new community there – but was disappointed to find myself spammed by a barrage of posts for second-hand baby items. Still, I’d scroll though the email digests every morning, looking for something more. And then one day, an intriguing message appeared:

I am writing this as I really want to put together a “Mothers group” for pregnant women due in Spring 2020.

I am a first-time mother-to-be, and it would be nice to meet other women in the same situation in my area.

In Denmark where I am from, the health centre would normally arrange a local group of mums- to-be all due around the same time. But this concept doesn't seem to exist in Canada, so I thought - why not set one up myself?

The post stood out amidst the endless stream of parents hawking barely used baby bouncers at a slim discount. I Googled mother’s groups in Denmark and learned that they were part of a fascinating local health policy. District nurses typically form the groups, called mødregrupper, by putting 6-8 mothers-to-be who live in the same area in touch with one another with the goal of developing an informal support network for the early days of parenthood. Following a policy change that had earmarked nine extra weeks of parental leave exclusively meant for fathers, in 2023 the city of Copenhagen had even begun to offer father’s groups, as well as mixed parent groups.

I quickly replied to the message, certain that if I didn’t my response would be buried in a flurry of interest.

The poster wrote me back and said she had received a few messages from other mothers-to-be. We connected first over an email thread, and later a WhatsApp group. The six of us planned to meet at the home of one of the mothers, a solo mom by choice who had given birth prematurely and had spent a week in hospital after some difficult complications. We had been in touch with her through the WhatsApp group, and some of us had already sent her food and baby items.

I still remember eating steaming bowls of lentil soup with a group of women I didn’t know, four of them very pregnant and the other two recently having given birth. It felt surreal to see such tiny babies with such tiny fingers and toes, and to know that one would be coming into my own life soon too.

But by the time I gave birth just five months later, the world had been nearly completely transformed, and the cozy gatherings I’d imagined had become impossible. COVID-19 had spread across the globe, with my due date coinciding with what would become the peak of its second wave. Some hospitals were forbidding birth partners, which meant that some people had to give birth alone – something that terrified me. The health system was overloaded and health workers overworked. I was pushed to have an induction two weeks after my due date – and after 24-hours of a difficult and intervention-laden labour, one that my husband was permitted to attend, I was holding a tiny baby too.

Though I had lost a lot of blood from a postpartum hemorrhage and could barely walk, I was sent home after just 24-hours. Hospitals didn’t want to keep mothers and newborns in the wards any longer than the absolute minimum because of the dangers of transmission. I soon realized that COVID-19 would make my experience of early parenthood even more isolating than it already tends to be for many people in North America.

A nurse made a house call three days after the baby was born to check for jaundice and to assess how breastfeeding was going. As the nurse suited up in a yellow disposable Hazmat suit and full mask outside the door — leaving it for us to dispose of after she left — I felt like I was living in a scene from a Hollywood outbreak thriller.

The mother’s group was my lifeline during those early days. The other moms would appear at my door in handmade masks that were common in the early days of the pandemic, dropping off meals, baby items, and even cookies intended to stimulate breast milk production. We’d schedule loud group Zoom calls, holding up our kids to the camera to show the others, with some of us inevitably dropping off the call to change diapers or wipe up a mess.

When the weather got warmer, we’d meet at the local parks with babies strapped to our chests or napping in their strollers. Though we kept a respectful six-foot distance, we grew closer, sharing our worries, joys, and memories of early parenthood. It was a relief to have others to turn to with the parenting questions that my own parents weren’t around to answer: Has this fever gone on for too long? When and how do I introduce solid food? How does potty training work? I could have turned to the Internet, but it meant so much more to have input from real people. The variety in everyone’s answers also taught me that there was no one right way to be a parent, and that we all need to learn what works best for our children.

Over the past five years, we’ve shared close to 5,000 photos and videos in our mother’s group, and our group founder has made two beautiful photo albums to save our memories. We spent a weekend at a cottage together as a group, and several of us have gone on holiday together. We have yearly Halloween and Christmas parties, and I organized an orphan’s Christmas for a few of us this year.

The group isn’t just about our kids. As we’ve gotten back into our careers and artistic pursuits, we also support each other by coming to product launches and performances and talking through our dreams and career transitions. Shout out to the mom in my group who signed up for a paid subscription to this Substack!

As the pandemic restrictions faded and our and our kids’ social circles grew, the mother’s group has become one support system among others. The WhatsApp group remains active, along with the willingness to offer support in times of need. When one of us came down with a bad case of pneumonia, we all chipped in to send her a cleaner to deal with the aftermath.

A group like this takes so little to put together – just someone willing to put the idea out there, and others with whom it resonates.

It’s wild to think that nearly five years later, I’m writing this post from a weekend away at a chalet, celebrating my birthday with one of my best buds from the group.

This post is for all the mamas in the group - thank you for being there and for helping us all get through so many challenging moments.