Berlin Mama meet Seattle Mama
“Do the playgrounds here seem different than Seattle?” Kyla loosens the knot of the calico wrap that binds her 14-month old to her breast. Little Uli toddles free with assurance to join her four year old blonde brother amidst a swarm of other blonde children. I admire Kyla so much. Her cool gaze somehow manages to keep eye contact with me while not losing sight of her little ones.
As a first time Mama, multiples boggle my mind. I’m fascinated by the routines of parents like Kyla – these are two of her four children, all under 7.
I’ve lost the flow of our conversation as I grin at Christian, who stands holding Hero’s hand at the edge of the sand-filled play area. Hero seems oblivious to the others his age. He’s looking for the nearest ball. Sure enough, a soccer ball – a football – arcs through the air and our son is off. I bring myself back to Kyla.
“There aren’t this many kids with their parents back home. Maybe more nannys? At least, not during the weekday like this. I was often the only mom at our Mount Baker neighborhood park at 2pm.”
Even before her children, a decade ago when we worked together at the University District Trader Joe’s in Seattle, Kyla was self-assured and considerate. She had long red dreadlocks then, and we vibed right away. It was clear from her banter with the customers that she read the same books as I did. That was a long time ago. But our world is so small now, that a quick Facebook message can bring us together again in a park in Germany.
“That’s funny, It’s actually daycare, most of the children you see here, not parents. We have one year maternity or paternity leave and then each child gets a spot in Kinderkrippe.” She nods to a tattooed punk with a half grown out mohawk who soothes a tired child with one arm and hands my son a soccer ball with the other. “I love Berlin. Someone who looks like that can get a job working for a daycare. The government wants people to be working.”
She makes the leap so easily. Of course we all need childcare to go back to work. I think of my own mom, driving two hours from Shelton to watch Hero so I can go to rehearsal when a baby-sitter cancels last minute. I think of the stressful loop that has become paying a professional more money than I make in an hour, just to go to work to pay them. Because I love my art, my job. Because it’s taken me to Berlin where I can witness that parenting doesn’t need to be this hard.
Read about Bohemia - the show that took me to Berlin