P.M.

One of the many things I loved about pregnancy was how I could meet a woman and have her tell me how short her cervix is or how she is currently suffering from heartburn that no amount of Tums could combat. Even before we swapped names. I love the quirky and intimate, and would rather skip the same ol’ pleasantries.

Lately, I’ve met so many different mamas with careers ranging from Broadway performer to former coast guard, sales executive to personal trainer, preschool teacher to portfolio manager, pediatrician to flight attendant. Yet we all speak the same language now. One afternoon, when we were all gathered at the library, hanging out on the floor, on the kids’ colorful playmats, sharing what we did pre-mamahood in between, “Micah, be careful! Don’t roll over that way!” and “Emerson! Gentle touch! Don’t hit Baby! Come back here please!”, it all reminded me of something. But I still can’t figure out what.

Like jail? How inmates must all gather around the communal toilet and say, “Whatchoo in for?” then listing the variety of offenses that brought them there? But no, this analogy does not work. What GOT us here was the same. We had sex and got knocked up (yes, I know that there are many alternative ways to getting pregnant in this day and age but I’m just stating the tried and true way so I don’t forget what I was writing about in the first place). So while this jail analogy was the first to come to mind, it doesn’t fully make sense since we got here the same way. Or wait, maybe it does, since we all had differerent jobs but ended up at the same stop – motherhood? jobs:offenses / jail::motherhood?

Like college? Or rather, the exact opposite of college? In college, I felt like most of us, at least most of my friends, were on equal footing, lining up at Sproul Hall to physically pick up our financial aid packages. Then graduation hit and we went on different paths that led to different lifestyles. So talking with mamas who did vastly different things only to end up together in this very moment, clutching our babies and watching over them with beaming grins and common complaints = different paths to equal footing, at least in the mother bear regard. Again, imperfect analogy. Okay, I’ll let it go and stop trying to write an SAT problem (remember the analogy section?). (Nerd alert: Obviously, I loved the analogy section a little too much).

For some reason, the library scene really stayed with me. Whatever it reminded me of, not jail, not reverse college, but maybe just Act Two? I want to carve out something grand in Act Two though I’m not sure just what shape or form it will be. Let me know if you’ve any ideas for me.

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3 thoughts on “P.M.

  1. jail and reverse college. haha. love it! i just love reading your posts, and the way you convey how you’re feeling/thinking is truly delightful. you were meant for blogging, girl. =)

  2. What is most jarring about the interaction mothers/ parents have while with their small children is that we have to figure out how to continue our conversational thoughts while enduring very abrupt interruptions (“Don’t touch that! It’s dirty!!” “Please listen to mommy the first time”) from other moms or even ourselves… and to be OK with resuming conversation that leaves that previous subject hanging. <— the latter point personally bugs me the most, but I've learned to deal. 😉
    The "Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy" was right about that shared sense of sisterhood that mothers have, the kind that enables them to get really TMI and not think much of it. I've never been so confident breaking the ice with a stranger b/c of it. But I have a few more "conversation rules with strangers" that I've picked up along the way b/c not every person should receive the same openness. Will talk to you later on this. Hopefully.

  3. Thanks for reading and responding! Kero, my steadfast friend – haha – glad I didn’t disappoint.

    Hoped it made sense as I wrote it superfast before micah realized he had had only half his dinner (one more boob pleej!). Sonia, we gotta just get on the phone soon. I do realize that even with the shared commonality of mamahood, we are all so different and not everyone thinks we have a bond. There are mamas for instance who are so into ONLY their own offspring that they never even look over at my boy and reciprocate same interest but this is more realistic. You know, meeting ppl, whether mamas or not, who only talk about themselves OR reveal nothing about theyselves while tryna found out how much in my bank account, how much I weigh, how much my MiL weighs and more. You got me curious about yo convo rules but ’tis brunch for mlk. Love yous.

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