囗Enclosure

THIS MUST HAVE BEEN WHAT MOTHER FELT LIKE when she was living in Sparwood. I was only a couple months into being a mother, but I was already questioning how life had brought me here. Did she fantasize about unlocking the shackles of marriage, children, and housekeeping, releasing herself of the weight?

I didn’t set out to practise the Chinese custom of confinement. The dips in my mood and the intense feelings of sadness started to come to me more frequently, and then the winter north wind led to my self-imposed quarantine with the baby. I began to understand Mother’s fear of the cold. It was as if all my courage had seeped out of me with the afterbirth. The thin, slippery layer of snow on the ground and the wisps of flakes falling from the sky looked like shards of glass that I had to protect my baby from. The need to cocoon made it easy for me to stay in my bathrobe, shuffling around in my slippers. I was conflicted, however, battling bouts of claustrophobia and guilt.

In my work as an immigration lawyer, I saw the heartbreak of parents separated from their children, yet I was looking for every opportunity to separate myself from my child physically. I didn’t want her clinging to me or saddling me down. The carrier, the feedings, felt like an oppressive stranglehold that I could not wrestle away from. How could I not be happy to be home with this baby, a miracle that some people struggle so hard to bring to their families? I thought about going outside for stimulation and fresh air. The four walls of my house felt like a prison, yet I didn’t have the energy to break free.

John saw my decline, but his efforts to get me out of the house during the day were futile since he had to be at work. So he summoned Hilary to help. One day she appeared at my door with her two-year-old daughter, Abigail. She saw me in my bathrobe and ushered me into my bedroom, throwing a nursing shirt and a pair of yoga pants at me. “Put these on,” she instructed. “All the moms are wearing these comfortable getups these days.”

I was too stunned to resist. Hilary told Abby to stop playing with my baby monitor and gave her a board book instead. Hilary then tackled the baby. She put Leo in her puffy down-filled one-piece and strapped her into the stroller, tucking a few fleece blankets around her. I was amazed at how quickly Hilary moved and how she seemed to know where everything was. She inspected my diaper bag and decided its contents would suffice.

“Kanket!” Abby shouted.

“That’s her word for blanket,” Hilary translated, then opened the door and yelled, “Let’s go! The playgroup starts in a half-hour, and it’s at least a twenty-minute walk. It can fill up, and they close the doors to latecomers.”

Hilary had become a fast walker as a mother, and I hadn’t gone anywhere with purpose in quite some time. I struggled to keep up on the frozen sidewalks. Although the air was cool, I was almost blinded by the brightness outside. The strong sunlight reflected off the snow crystals coating every surface, and I was taken aback seeing my breath on this crisp morning. Although I was surprised by how difficult it was just to step out the door, it did feel good to be out, the open air instantly lifting my mood.