The Worst Thing About Being A Mom
Of all the things that irk me as a mother, my canned dialog with other mothers is the most vexing. All my clever banter and profound conversation topics go out the window when I meet a mother with a baby the same age as mine. The irresistible urge to compare takes over and I hear myself saying, "How many teeth does he have?"
What do I care? Why can't I ask her about good books she's reading? Yes. I'll do that. But instead I follow up with, "Is he crawling yet?"
Gah! I did it again. Why not ask her something about herself? "What are you feeding him?"
Okay, so I guess that's kind of about herself, but really still just baby comparing. Surely I can come up with something interesting. "How long is he sleeping at night?"
Oh, that's just great, Hollywood. A real titillating topic. You spend 15 hours alone with your kids then when you finally get the chance to have a real conversation with an adult that's all you can come up with? You're a gem. "Are you still nursing?"
Okay, that's just rude to ask and I seriously don't want to know. Let's regroup and try to get off the baby topic for once. "Are you in any playgroups?"
Pathetic. A thinly veiled disguise for real conversation. Why don't you just ask the question you really want an answer to: Is my baby better than yours? But instead, I come up with, "where is he on the growth charts?"
Ha! My baby measures an inch off the top of the height chart, proving my dominance as a mommy once and for all. I've yet to meet a faster growing baby.
With my superiority as a parent scientifically concluded, I'm left with the little matter of ending the conversation before my wits return and I'm able to actually make a friend. I give my baby's diaper a meaningful pat and scrunch my nose. "Better go get this diaper changed," I say and scurry off.
I swear, I have no control over this conversation. I keeps happening day after day after day. I hate myself when I hear the lines coming out of my mouth but some instinctual auto-pilot takes over and I'm at its mercy. I can handle poopy diapers, I can handle caked on spit-up, but if I hear myself asking these questions one more time I swear I'm going to put my little beansprout up for adoption.
What do I care? Why can't I ask her about good books she's reading? Yes. I'll do that. But instead I follow up with, "Is he crawling yet?"
Gah! I did it again. Why not ask her something about herself? "What are you feeding him?"
Okay, so I guess that's kind of about herself, but really still just baby comparing. Surely I can come up with something interesting. "How long is he sleeping at night?"
Oh, that's just great, Hollywood. A real titillating topic. You spend 15 hours alone with your kids then when you finally get the chance to have a real conversation with an adult that's all you can come up with? You're a gem. "Are you still nursing?"
Okay, that's just rude to ask and I seriously don't want to know. Let's regroup and try to get off the baby topic for once. "Are you in any playgroups?"
Pathetic. A thinly veiled disguise for real conversation. Why don't you just ask the question you really want an answer to: Is my baby better than yours? But instead, I come up with, "where is he on the growth charts?"
Ha! My baby measures an inch off the top of the height chart, proving my dominance as a mommy once and for all. I've yet to meet a faster growing baby.
With my superiority as a parent scientifically concluded, I'm left with the little matter of ending the conversation before my wits return and I'm able to actually make a friend. I give my baby's diaper a meaningful pat and scrunch my nose. "Better go get this diaper changed," I say and scurry off.
I swear, I have no control over this conversation. I keeps happening day after day after day. I hate myself when I hear the lines coming out of my mouth but some instinctual auto-pilot takes over and I'm at its mercy. I can handle poopy diapers, I can handle caked on spit-up, but if I hear myself asking these questions one more time I swear I'm going to put my little beansprout up for adoption.
Comments
And I wonder why the moms drop their kids off and then leave as fast as possible...
It's also gotten really old when I'm out in public and a new mom sees me with my 4.5 yo and 2 yo and thinks "ooh a veteran! Maybe she can give me my advice!"
This happens all the time, and my answer, no matter what advice they're asking for, is always "trust yourself to know what's best for your child."
I like Ram's T shirt, "I'm canceling my subscription to your issues." I wonder if he's still wearing it after all the teasing we've subjected him to...
It's every mother's nemesis - bad conversation skills. It hinder's us from "deep" friendships, instead we form our friendships on the only thing we have in common, our children. Is that bad? I don't know. I just found out a few years ago who my best friend's favorite band is.
He's in the 97th percentile for height, by the way. Shocking, I know.
But I have to say that when forced to talk to a mother I don't really care to speak with, this conversation comes in handy!
I'm so glad I'm not the only mom who falls into this rut. It makes me crazy but it's some secret mom code that we all do. I need to work on getting past the initial connection. I'm the chattiest gal around but my chat is just BORING.
Thanks for your honest and insightful post...glad I wandered by!
Y'know--try to figure out what their degrees in college were in--what music they liked--favorite books--movies--hobbies.
They all looked at me like I was a freak. And that's when it hit me: I had NOTHING in common with the majority of these women except for the fact that we were MOMS. I went home very depressed, and stuck to the canned conversation after that.
But--yeeps!--sometimes, the way we talk to each other, you'd think that we were nothing BUT moms. And, honestly, *living* the mom-stuff is boring enough--do we really have to talk about it, ad nauseam? And the comparison stuff drives me crazy (mostly because most parents' offspring just can't COMPETE with my wee genetic marvel, and I always feel guilty afterward).