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You Are Now Entering The “Mommy’s Club”.

I have just entered another episode of the Twilight Zone called the “Mommy’s club”.  This is the one where I realize that some of my old friendships just won’t survive my baby’s total disregard and latch on my social life.  Let me explain the plot. Today I saw an old friend of mine who doesn’t have children and, for reasons known only to her, has decided she won’t ever take that leap.  She likes kids but doesn’t want her own.  I respect her decision as much as she respects mine to have them.  We’ve been friends since before Dear Hubby and got married and became pregnant. She was even generous with her time when our little one was first born.  But we haven’t had much opportunity to hang out since then.  OK, I haven’t, unless she wanted to come to my house and get drooled on. We were never bosom buddies per se, but we always had fun and could always find some ground on which to stand common. Some juicy bit of gossip to chat about or someone to poke fun at.  Or a dirty, raunchy joke to tell being she was one of the only women I’ve ever come across that had a dirtier mind than I do.  But today I felt…IT.  I can only describe it as that simple but very loud bit of white noise that happens when there is dead silence.  An undeniable change in the “tone” in how we relate to each other. It was there in the silent undercurrent.  An unspoken wall between us with signs posted saying she doesn’t want to talk about my kid and how she’s…blah, blah, blah.  And,unfortunately, that’s all I know to talk about at this point in the Mommy game. So we have silence.  I can’t blame her for it, and neither can I blame myself. It’s nature. But it’s also a terrible feeling. 

I have found so far that being a new mom is the loneliest road I’ve ever been on.  Your stuck in your own house so much you start to resent everything about it.  For instance, OMG! Is that really my beautiful cabinet, once filled with cute nick knacks, that is now overflowing with toys?  Loaded with poor stuffed animals pressed up against the glass looking all the part of the helpless scruffy victims of an 11 month old ? And OMG! Is that really my vacuum cleaner that is now living in the corner of our family room, visible to all that walk by since I vacuum so often (hairy dogs) because my kid is crawling around and touching that yucky furry floor? With her hands.  That go into her mouth every other second. Ewww! Is that really my underwear laying in the middle of the hairy floor because my dear sweet Tornado Baby stole them out of the hamper and ran through the room with them…again? (At least she’s not wearing them on her head…yet.)

And don’t forget the OMG! Are those REALLY my BOOBS?  Noticed as I stared at myself in the mirror wondering what the EFF happened to my happy little sane world?   Noticed after my 5 second shower, cut short because the same Tornado Baby, who shreds laundry baskets in a matter of seconds, decided to show me how talented she was by opening the cabinet door under my sink. A place completely not kid proofed…yet.  A skill that she, of course had to wait to reveal for when I was buck naked with shampoo in my hair.  OMG!  I forgot to rinse out my hair. Oh, crap! Do you think my license to bare children would be revoked if I duct taped her to the wall for a few more seconds? (Had to toss that one in there for comic relief. I wouldn’t do that. I simply filled up another laundry basket for her to destroy.)


No, this isn't my child. But I had to get the idea from somewhere!

**No, this isn't my child. But I had to get the idea from somewhere!**

And all this resentment for my environment is occurring on a daily basis as I sit and watch my daughter happily play, unable to remove myself from the couch because she will go ballistic if I dare leave the room to flip the laundry. Which is sadly sometimes the highlight of my day.  And before any of you wonderful Moms out there in Bloggyworld suggest it, I’ve tried going to story times and places like that, and I’ll keep going for my daughter’s benefit. However, they do nothing for me.  It’s a room filled with other Mom’s playing the “One Up Me Game” and I would rather be alone on my couch then play with them.  It’s sad really. I thought I would discover a place where there were other women like me, stuck in their own baby ruts, desperately seeking understanding and kinship but it wasn’t like that.  With all the power struggles and cliquish little groups that formed on different areas of the rug.  It was like High school all over again, with just as many hormonally zit filled faces with heavy makeup attempting to cover it all up. Although there was a high probability of more collagen and implants. 

One would think because I’m technically not EVER alone that I couldn’t possibly be feeling that lonely.  No, it doesn’t make sense to me either, but does anything ever make sense when it comes to raising kiddos? From what I hear, I’m sorry, let me rephrase that,read, because I never get to literally hear anyone talk about it, I’m not the first Mom to ever feel this way. That knowledge does make me feel better in some weird way.  Somewhere out there is another Mom feeling the exact same lost feeling as she sits on her couch wishing she could simply go pee without little eyes staring at her, with little cold, wet, slobbery hands on her knees.  No, I know I’m not alone. But possessing this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. Especially when I finally have the opportunity to get away from the baby for a little while, be around friends that used to be a huge part of my life, and come away feeling even lonelier.  It makes me want to scream “WHAT DID I DO WRONG? I had a baby!  That’s not a sin, nor is it uncommon. It’s the American dream. Or at least MY American dream. SUPPORT ME!!!!!!” But I don’t. I stay silent in my despair as I watch my friend walk away and go back to her normal life as I go back to my couch in the life sucking vortex that is the Twilight Zone of the “Mommy’s Club”.

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