“How you dress is PR. Consider the shul’s image, you need to reflect that. It’s not about you, but the institution you represent.”

“Got it.”

“What about what you’re wearing?” I shifted the conversation. It was a pale blue knit dress, perfectly draped. You could barely tell she was overdue in it. It was midi length, what we used to call duty length.

“Perfect for shalosh seudos. I’ll be done with it in time for you to wear it.” She winked and smiled, she seemed really happy to be able to give.

“One down, two to go.” I walked along the perimeter of the store, my hands brushing against the racks of fabric, newly appreciative of maternity clothes’ forgiving nature.

“I think this’ll look great on you,” Shifra held up a straight black dress.

So boring. I made a face.

“Trust me on this, it’s a foundational piece. It’ll be your walking dress. Feel the material, it has structure, and class. You can throw an easy sweater over it, put on an oversized blazer, play with different jewelry.”

She saw me hesitate.

“Chana, feel it, it’s a heavier material, not clingy.” She met my gaze. “It’ll be tzniyus for you.”

I broke into a smile. That was my concern. I love Shifra, but we’re different. I accepted the dress, as well as the next few articles of clothing Shifra selected. Anything I picked up, she nixed with just a raised brow.

We went to the dressing room. There was a nice area for Shifra to sit while she waited for me.

I tried that black dress first. Shifra was right. Perfectly tzniyus, and also really classy. It almost wasn’t me.

A white duster was next. I showed Shifra,

“It’s so long I think it might not be appropriate. It’s a sweater, not a gown.”

Shifra tilted her head. “I hear that.”

I smiled at Shifra.

“Thanks so much for coming with me, I needed a with-it eye, but I didn’t want to ask Leah. Me being pregnant the same time as her is challenging and I don’t want to shift the spotlight away from her any more than is necessary.”

Shifra waved off my thanks. “You’re so tuned in to your kids, how is selfish me gonna do that?

I looked at her, waited for her to say more.

“Don’t mind me, I’m a bundle of nerves, that’s all.” She slumped into her seat.

I sat on the empty chair across from her.

“Tell me more.”

Shifra inhaled. “We’ve gone through this. I’m showing up to the party late, this maternal thing is not a part of me that I’ve developed, I was never that into my nieces and nephews. I don’t know what I’m doing. And I look at kids these days and they’re so complex. How do all the pieces fit together? How do I raise a kid right? And I thought PR for Trump was impossible.”

I chuckled. “You’re worried, that’s normal, all mothers worry. Get used to it. But really, even knowing you don’t know is a huge step. You have people who think ‘I love babies, I’ll make a great mother,’ when that’s just a tiny part of the job.”

Shifra smiled slightly, then looked away. I reached out and patted her shoulder.

“You’ll be amazing. And the days that you doubt yourself, you have me who will remind you you’re doing great, and Abby who will tell you kids are the worst anyway.”

Shifra laughed now. “You’re good, Chana. You know how to listen.”

I stood and bent over to hug Shifra. With my arms wrapped around Shifra’s neck, my mind shifted to Leah. Why couldn’t I be there for her, be fully present, suspend judgement like I do for Shifra? Also, how funny and sad is it that I’m giving parenting advice and support to Shifra when I’m kinda muddling through it myself right now?

***

I stepped back from my closet. It was nice to see two new outfits hanging there. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a shopping trip like that. My wardrobe is more slapdash, Macy’s is having a sale online and Leah will order something for me, sight unseen.

While I admired my new classiness, the doorbell rang. I hurried downstairs, and peeking through the peephole, saw my next door neighbor. Joe, no, John, Jack? I flung open the door,

“Hi!” I offered.

“Hi, Mrs. Schwartzberg. I’m just dropping this off.” I looked down and saw about ten small Amazon Prime boxes on my stoop.

“Mine?”

“Yeah, you have the address wrong on your Prime account. Your son keeps telling me he’s gonna update the account, but he still hasn’t.”

Click. So that’s how Chaim’s been keeping his business under wraps.

“Oh wow, I had no idea the packages were coming to you.”

“Yep, I guess your son is so good, he picks them up every day, so you didn’t even notice.”

I would’ve laughed if it wasn’t that pathetic.

“Thank you for dropping them off. Really appreciate it.”

He shrugged and waved it off.

“I was leaving my house anyway, might as well give you your packages earlier.”

I nodded and smiled.

“Look into updating your address. You have a good son, but seems he’s a little forgetful.”

“Teens.” I forced a grin. Joe/John/Jack turned to leave and waved. I waved back.

“Take care,” he called. I was already moving the boxes inside.

“You too,” I answered, my voice strangled. And that’s how I felt.

Chaim, we need to pick a road. Fast.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 706)