When I had my first son in my close-in Maryland suburb of Washington, DC, a bit of a village materialized around me. On the warm May days, in those first early weeks, there were a few days I ventured out into the real world with my baby boy tucked what I hoped was securely in the Baby Bjorn. Despite the C-section recovery pangs, some post-partum depression and absolute exhaustion, I was determined to take a simple walk in the fresh air. Neighbors - other moms - poured into the cul-de-sac around me, asking how I was doing and happy to see me out. It was like a village appeared after two years of living there and never having met anyone, really.

If too many days passed and the moms didn't see me, they'd check in and encourage me to get out. Some brought food. Some sent their toddlers with treats. One of their sons actually crawled in through the doggie door, uninvited - but that's another story for another day.

I am an introvert, and too much constant contact and checking in would have driven me crazy. But this was just enough of a "village." The moms on the block were busy, had older kids, and didn't park themselves in my kitchen all day to chat. They just checked in once in a while. If I needed milk, they could pick it up on a run to the store, bu they weren't coming by with a grocery list every time they headed out - which was fine with me.

Everyone's definition of - and need for - a village is different. Without any family or close friends in my neighborhood, I needed a little support. And it was there.

Over three years later, when I had my second son, we lived in a bigger house, in a fancier neighborhood, and there was no village. I counted on my part-time sitter to pick up baby formula on her way in when I was down to the wire. My mom came in from Chicago for the first roller-coaster week with my colickly son - and i burst into tears when her taxi pulled up to take her back. It was a bitter cold January, and the nights and neighborhood was bleak. Noone was outside. No neighbors came by. There was no village.

I was sure i'd find my village by joining mom groups and baby music classes; by getting to know the moms at my older-sons' preschool. But I worked part-time, and was neither here nor there. Normally totally independent and hating the idea of people popping in, I actually missed the little bit the village i'd had last time.

But I survived.

Sometimes, finding a village takes luck - being in the right place, at the right time, with the right people. You can't necessarily plan for that or know what to expect. Kind of like those first nights of being up with a baby.