It's happening again. I've logged onto facebook. And there they are. The pictures.
A large group of moms and babies - on a playdate, at a muesum, or some other event. I know everyone there. And I wasn't invited.
And on some level I am completly ok with that. But on another - well....It's all so high school. And that is exactly how it leaves me feeling - high school, alone, uninvited, questioning why I am not liked, scanning the contents of my mind for what I did or said and when....
The truth is the explanation is probably simple. I'm a work at home mom. And I hang out with a lot of stay at home moms. And they just don't get my schedule - no matter how many times I explain it. It's like there is this wall between us. On some level I am jealous of them - they get to be home and just be home - not home with an email to send, an attorney's ego to soothe, a paper to get out. And on some level they probably resent me - a two income family, a back-up plan built in.
But then there are also the other lines that divide - carefully etched. To breastfeed or not. To co-sleep or cry it out. To make your own baby food or use the store bought variety.
I consider myself to be practicing "attachment parenting light." I got an epidural - but not until the very end - so it never really kicked in - my "almost natural" birth. I co-sleep. I'm breastfeeding. Still. At 14 months, I'm not sure when I will stop.
Then again - maybe it has nothing to do with the mommy wars. With working or not. With co-sleeping or cry it out. Maybe it is because I tend to exaggerate too much. Maybe it is because I've never managed to be a glass half full type.
Whatever the reason - the fact is - I'm okay. I may not be the most popular mom or the most liked mom. But I am a mom. Which means that for now - at least - there is one person who thinks the world of me - the one who is napping upstairs right now. And I have my close friends. My confidants. I belong to some. But I don't belong to everyone. And that is okay.
As moms, some day we will have to teach our children to accept their limits. And a lesson first lived is a lesson much more delicately taught.
Comments