I got pregnant in my mid-twenties. And my boyfriend bailed. I left New York City for the Jersey burbs because I couldn't afford to live in Manhattan and raise a baby solo. Something told me my roommates-strangers I'd met on Craigslist.org-wouldn't be keen on 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. feedings, either. Although my girlfriends threw me a perfect New York City shower and toasted me with virgin mimosas and refer to themselves as Aunt Kateri, Aunt Nic, and Aunt Lo, we live completely different lives now. I hang out with a new group. By group I mean my son, Jack Domenic, who turned 2 in August. Then there's Elmo. He'd red and furry and only talks to me when I remember to change his batteries.
Unable to just strap Jack to my chest and muscle into Manhattan for brunch or happy hour on a whim, I decided I needed to make mom friends. I am a mom, after all. So one afternoon, dressed in skinny jeans, a wife-beater, and a Pucci scarf knotted around my head, I plopped Jack into the sandbox and dusted a sprinkling of sand off the edge where I would sit-and no doubt make mom friends.
Making friends has always been my forte. I'm outgoing and loud and love asking people questions. But it didn't happen so organically. Three moms were already talking loudly about their "annoying husbands" and since I didn't have an annoying husband, I just sat there and watched Jack pile sand on his legs. I felt like I was a freshman in high school who had just transferred from a remote town in middle America and had no one to eat lunch with so I sat alone in the library pressed against a bookshelf eating a ham sandwich-and a book probably fell on my head, that's how hopeless I felt in that sandbox. When the one with the chipped red nail polish mentioned that her toddler refused to poop on the potty, I perked up. Potty! Potty! Potty was something I could dish about. Potty was the new Manolo.
"I just bought my son a potty that looks like a basketball!" I exclaimed. In the seemingly eternal seconds of silence that followed, I felt exactly like Baby in the classic movie Dirty Dancing when she tells Johnny, "I carried a watermelon." The moms didn't bite and merely smiled, then returned effortlessly to bitching about their husbands. I built a sand castle with Jack instead. Who needs 'em!
Was this an adult version of Mean Girls or what? It got worse. On our way out of the gate, a mom holding a toddler on her hip, with an infant glued to her chest in a sling, asked how much I charged.
Oh, God, she thinks I'm Jack's babysitter.
I'm. A. Mom! I'm. A. Mom! I wanted to yell it from the highest point on the jungle gym. I'm just like you! Except my nails are painted black and sometimes I read fashion magazine articles out loud to put my kid to sleep. And I'm single!
The following afternoon I returned to that same park to find that same group of moms huddled in a circle. I waved, but maybe it looked like I was slapping a bug away because they didn't signal back. I decided they were hazing me and trying to see how much I could take. The afternoon plugged on, and when Jack collided with another tot and fell down, scraping his cheek on the blacktop, I panicked and ran to him. A young mom with shoulder-length blond hair and an equally blonde little girl rushed over to us when no one else did. Jack stopped screaming, only because he was now holding his breath in fear. Great!
"Jack, Jack," I said, blowing into his face. He came to, screaming, and the blonde mother rested her palm on my shoulder.
"They fall down all the time at this age, huh?" she said, and I noticed that her daughter was around Jack's age.
My face was white now and I was feeling around Jack's head for any bumps. I pulled him from me and looked at his tear-stained cheeks. He was rubbing his eyes now.
"He's okay, right?" I asked the blonde mom. I needed someone to confirm he was okay.
"Let's go sit down on that bench and take five," she said. She guided me, gently pushing me forward to a spot that overlooked the lake.
"I'm Jessica," she said, sitting down and plopping her daughter onto the grass at her feet. Jack escaped from my arms and pointed to the little girl. I stood him up next to her and he crouched down, running his fingers through the grass, feeling the cool blades on his skin.
"Yep, he seems fine," Jessica said, smiling. "Are you okay?" and for the first time since becoming a single mom, I felt like I had a girlfriend who got me, the mom. I felt like I had someone on my side again.
Moms or Grown-Up Mean Girls? Why Is It So Difficult To Find New Mommy Friends? was written by Christine Coppa for Hybrid Mom.
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