First-time visitors to the monthly pop-up ‘Scars Only Speakeasy’ were swiftly guided to a room adjacent to the entrance. There, a woman wearing a face mask and medical gloves ushered them to a well-lit spot in the middle of the room. Once in the light, the visitor would lower their skirt, shorts, or pants, including underwear, just a few inches. ‘Face Mask Lady’ would nod in approval upon identifying the C-section scar. She would go on to smile warmly and say, “Welcome to the Scars Only Speakeasy. My friend will guide you to the others.”

Evelyn had felt elated after ‘Face Mask Lady’ nodded approvingly. She relished the monthly meetings where mothers, having pumped breast milk beforehand, enjoyed delicate wines, sparkling prosecco, and the occasional cocktail. The exquisite canapés added to the exclusive ambiance. Laughter, disbelief, amazement, joy, indignation, and even occasional sobs and cries created a symphony of sounds bouncing off the walls, complemented by smooth jazzy background music.

As expected, each woman proudly boasted about her baby. However, this was balanced by shared experiences and complaints about healing C-section scars and the limited mobility it caused, breastfeeding pains, unhelpful partners, nagging parents or in-laws, and the challenges of working life. Evelyn wholeheartedly joined in on all topics.

As these evenings were ‘mommy-time’, no babies were allowed. Babies were presumed to be safely at home. If anyone asked, Evelyn happily showed carefully selected stock photos of a baby that she’d found online.

When she was here, everything else in her life disappeared into the background. Among these outwardly similarly scarred women, she could, once a month, fully immerse herself in the illusion of being a first-time mother with her newborn baby, a reality she knew would never be hers.

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^{Photo by Ahtziri Lagarde on Unsplash}