Sometimes being a mama feels exactly like being in high school. You’re thrown in with a group of people you have nothing in common with but a life-stage and the slightly elevated chance they’ll be on psycho-pharms.
The other day I took Max to Urban Grind, this lovely kid-friendly cafe in my neighborhood. It has big play rooms and strong coffee.
There were at least a dozen other kids Max’s age. He loved them! They all played with the big Legos and chased each other down the plastic slide.
I couldn’t believe our luck. So many kids.
And then another mama asked, “Are you here for the meet-up?”
“No,” I shrugged. “We’re just randomly here.”
“Oh,” the woman smiled. “Well, we have this meet-up every week. Our kids are between one and eighteen months. You can check on line to see where we’ll meet next. And…”
“And,” another mom interrupted, brushing the crumbs off her Urban Outfitters sweat jacket. “We’re actually closed to new members.”
There was this collective silence among all the mamas in which I wondered if I’d misunderstood. I contemplated asking: Do you know who I am? But I just nodded. “Oh,” I said. “Right. Oh well.”
It was exactly how I always felt in high school. Invited and then uninvited to the cool kids’ party. I dropped out of high school.
It was exactly how I always felt when I was a teen mom. Excluded. Alienated. But back then I always figured it was because I was too young. I figured they thought I was a loser shit because I was 19 and they were 34. A clear case of discrimination.
But now they are still 34. And I am 38.
And I am learning. And learning again. That it isn’t my age. I am just
fundamentally
alienated
from
parenting
culture.
