Saturday, 17 April 2010

Ultimate Fear.....

I'll let you in on a secret. What I fear more than anything else (almost as much as birth and cockroaches)? Other mothers. When I walk into a group of women with babies I want to turn on my heel and run away faster than Linford Christie. The worst ever is when Sproglet gets invited to a party and I have to take him. Not one of those fabulous 'drop off parties' - no, the kind you have to supervise your kid for the next few hours. Except your kid fecks off to play and you are left sipping cold tea/weak juice and looking like Norman no mates, smiling inanely hoping someone - anyone - will take pity on you and engage you in conversation. Except when they do you wish that they hadn't...

My toes curl and I crave more than anything a large vodka in my hand (Grey Goose if you're asking) so I could at least flirt with a dishy Dad - if only there were a dishy Dad to be seen. But it's just a sea of clucky women and sugared to the eyeballs kids bouncing off the padded walls.

I try - I really do. I sidle up to a lonesome Mum and make small talk. But frankly - they bore the pants off me and I find myself wishing that I had the Hermione Granger ability to magic myself to another time zone - one where the party is finished - or that Sproglet will break into spontaneous tears and demand to go home. Sadly neither has happened yet.

Thing is - the kid thing (well I love Sproglet more than life and am so digging the age he is right now more than any other time) - dare I say - can become so monotonous. Would I rather be counting the minutes while some Daily Mail reading Mum harps on about nipple shields or would I rather be in a beer garden necking bottles of ice cold Corona with my old schoolmates?? I have come to accept that I just don't do motherhood that well. Sproglet doesn't seem to mind bless him. He is well fed, watered and clothed. He gets daily - almost at 5 min interval - hugs. He goes to zoos and parties and parks and movies and plays and runs and climbs. We eat cake for breakfast on birthdays. Or just because. We have fun. He is the happiest, least aggressive kid I know.

Still I feel somehow - odd. I've found a few like minded souls where I live - my new writer buddy is amazing and she is a Mother - so that gives me hope. But it really is like a club - one that I seem to abuse/break the rules the minute I talk about A. loving my job (or used to) or B. That I never want to be a stay at home Mum. I don't even say the C word and somehow they know - that I am different. And probably they sense I really don't want to be them. I don't judge anyone for what they choose to do - hell if it works for you - rock on. Ok, maybe I judge those breast feeders who are still lopping the remainder of a nipple into their 5 year old's gub - but apart from that I am judgement free.

The thing that puts me most off having another kid is having to go through the whole happy clappy sing songey group thing again. I would rather eat my own eyeballs in vomit. I hated them when Sproglet was small. Firstly, I sing like a man - which is very unnerving to a group of soprano women. Secondly a little bit of sick rises in my mouth every time a Mother shares her 'birth' story like a badge of honour. Thirdly Sproglet slept soundly through them all so I paid a fiver to be humiliated and listen to folk talk about their ripped apart vaginas.

The first year I found really relentlessly hard, I was lonely, unsure and insecure around other Mums. Do I want to do that again? I ended up on the happy pills which I am sure wasn't just down to my lack of work and Husband's crazy hours. Everywhere I go there is the fucking pressure about having 2 kids. Why?? If I did I'd pray for an Oasis to appear from nowhere - where Mums go to talk about good TV drama, premium vodkas, what's going on in the papers, how to invigorate one's sex life post kids, how hot Chuck Bass is and frankly anything other than kiddy related activities. This post is I am sure a carbon copy of many before. For that I apologise. Christ I bore myself, so I hope I aint boring you guys. I just came from a kid's party and had to vent. As I left I almost wanted to shout loudly 'Sorry I have to dash - have to see my coke dealer before my toyboy gets here for our weekly dildo-filled fuck fest. Saturday night rush and all!' You'll be pleased to hear I didn't.

Secretly - I wish I had.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I am pre-empting that I will feel like this, I'm due in the summer. I cringe when I see a group of women and four or more pushchairs on their way to the swimming pool near where I work. I don't want to be friends with 'other mothers'. I've been to one physio session and the other expectant Mums did my head there and it was only for an hour! However, I don't want to make my child unsociable or lonely. I guess I'll have to brave it too. I will take a hip flask of Jack Daniels to numb the agony!

EDW said...

Oh, dearest, I feel like I know your proper name and can't remember it. Anyhoo, Crummy, and Anon - many moms feel like that. I used to beat this particular drum constantly. I could have written this!

I made a big point about saying who i was upfront - goes out! drinks! doesn't do crafts! not cutesy!

Then I kind of let down my guard and made friends with other moms. And really, I found women like me. And I relaxed and started to see the other moms for who there were, as people. Sure, there are some assholes in the bunch, and some slaves to their children without personalities of their own, but most are real people, like me.

Hang in there. You'll find them.