Today we walked over to our neighborhood park. It's a great park with three different play areas and plenty of room. It was more crowded than usual with moms in their playgroups, kids on bikes, boys and girls generally going crazy. It's a diverse group; the neighborhood is home to a lot of eastern european, latino and asian families. It's common to hear 5 or 10 different dialects flying around. I like that about our park.
Today M and I were crawling around in the sand playing with someone else's discarded sandtoys when I paused and looked around. Everyone else's mommy seemed to be talking to someone else. I was the only unaccompanied adult around.
I have very few local friends with kids. I don't have other mothers to talk to, to laugh with, to lean on or commiserate with. I shy away from playground mommies, the tedium of small talk over ages and allergies, of forced sharing and cheerfulness.
I've still not come completely around to this.
I was asked this week how I would define myself as a person aside from being a mother. I had to think for a while because I am not entirely sure I would first define myself AS a mother. It's certainly evolving; I love her more than anything and always have, our bond grows each day, I think of the way I missed her on our trip, about how much more present I am. It's good, but it's not all.
So perhaps I am indeed a mother; just not one of those mommies.
Could that be it? What exactly do those mommies do? What do they talk about? I am going to bet they mostly talk about the same damn things I do. So what is the problem then?
It's not you, it's me.
I am not all the way there yet, this journey into motherhood. And somehow that resistance is keeping me separate. Different. Alternative mommy. As if I don't talk about the color of M's shit just as much as everyone else. But it's okay for now, because it's evolving. For now, I'll keep it on the straight and narrow while I continue to figure it out.