Well, I did it. I survived the mommy party. In my head I had pictured four to five moms sitting in a circle, each holding a baby, sipping coffee and chatting quietly about their little ones’ feeding and eating schedules and telling clichéd jokes about how drastically life had changed post-baby. My head…so naïve! The reality was at least six moms (maybe eight? I lost count), maybe 15 kids (could have been more, I REALLY lost count here) and a whole lot of noise and commotion.
I think my neighbor got quite a kick out of watching me react to the scene. My eyes grew wide, and I’m pretty sure my mouth hung slack while I clutched my one quiet baby ever closer to my chest. You see, each mom there had a litter of kids. Two ladies are pregnant with their fourth child, one mom had five kids, and the others, well, I don’t know how many they had but it definitely wasn’t one and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just two. Apart from the 18 or so kids that were running around, there was talk that several more kids were at school. Whoever services the water supply around here must have mistaken ‘Fertility’ for ‘Flouride’ when pulling the water additives down off the shelf.
Anyway, I was grateful to feel genuinely warmly welcomed by these ladies. And it was nice not to fret too much over whether or not I reeked of breast milk (I probably did) or had a stain on my shirt (I definitely did). If anyone would understand, this crew would. There was talk of pediatricians and discussion around which area hospital was best for kids. And here I thought it was whichever one the ambulance dropped you at when you dialed 911! There was a tale of a woman who used to hold Friday afternoon play dates in which she served cocktails (to the MOMS, of course!). I don’t know why she wasn’t at this party and I was hoping someone would share her name, phone and email address, but no such luck.
At times the gathering reminded me of a corporate cocktail party, except a little more awkward—for me at least—without the benefit of a friendly alcoholic drink crutch. At such functions, people generally float throughout the room mingling in small groups. I hate to mingle and generally prefer to stay rooted in one corner of the room, letting the natural ebb and flow of the occasion bring new faces and new conversations my way. When I’m inevitably left standing alone with nothing to do but stare into my cup, I put on my best ‘I-am-deep-in-thought-and-totally-comfortable-standing-here-alone’ face. When that inevitably fails, I pick a conversation to join, and do my best ‘don’t-mind-me-I’m-just-casually-sauntering-into- your-A-B-conversation’ impression. Again, I was grateful that the ladies, many of whom are related and thus invariably spend gads of time together, made me feel welcome and let me in on their conversations without looking me up and down disapprovingly.
Yes, I’m a bit reclusive; I’m pretty happy hanging out alone. And yes, gatherings such as this one fill me with some degree of anxiety and render me ‘I-feel-sorry-for-her-pathetic’, but you know what? I’m going to keep going, baby in tow. Because one day–sooner than I’d like to admit–Drew is going to have to go to school. And birthday parties. And then school dances. And then frat parties. And then corporate functions. And then weddings. And I don’t want him standing in the corner near the punch bowl/keg/coffee pot, pretending to be comfortable standing alone. I want him standing near the front door, or in the middle of the room, making everyone who enters the party feel welcome.
Tags: motherhood
