So I gathered Lily, found the meeting in a nondescript office building, and shuffled into the room with my overstuffed diaper bag, leaking boobs, and screaming newborn.
It was that uncomfortable.
There, we were encouraged to share all our horror stories while our sponsor (I mean, “lactation consultant”) gave us advice. Then, if you didn’t want an hour of free instruction, you could always chat up the other moms while you tried to avoid staring at their naked boobs.
By the time I showed up, everyone had already formed alliances.
Each time I got home from a meeting, I would study myself in the mirror.
Spit-up on my maternity clothing? Check.
Bags under the eyes? Check.
Cute, overpriced diaper bag? Check.
I was just like everyone else there. So why didn’t these moms want to be friends with me?
Or the face I made when one mom boasted about how much she loved nursing?
Who knows?
The point is, mommy groups can be more cliquey than the junior high lunchroom.
And facing down the “A List” is always nerve-wracking, but when you’re still experiencing night sweats and wearing maternity underwear, it can be brutal to your self-esteem.
Several months later, I checked out a playgroup in my area.
It has to be better than the breastfeeding support group, I thought.
And it was . . . for the other moms.
I just didn’t fit in.
This became painfully obvious when they talked excitedly about how we needed to do a girl’s night out.
Seriously? Because honestly, I’d rather scrub my bathroom than spend my one free evening gawking at the wedding pictures of people I hardly know.
Maybe I was.
I did feel bad about the way I acted when I stopped coming abruptly and ran into the playgroup at our neighborhood park several months later.
The thing was, I just couldn’t get over the forced sisterhood.
When you join an organized mommy group, you’re hanging out with people you may never normally be friends with in the hopes that you’ll be able to have a few hours of adult conversation while your kids steal toys from each other.
The groups are supposed to be for the kids, but kids don’t care who they “play” with, especially when they’re little.
The groups are really for the moms.
And if you’re not connecting with the moms, then what’s the point?
At the park. At my church. And on walks.
I now have a great group of mommy friends.
In fact, we all get along so well that my husband has nicknamed us “the Gackle,” because we squawk like geese as we go on walks and talk about really important things like the latest botched nose job featured in US Weekly.
I don’t know what I’d do without the Gackle-or the “P.O.T. Group,” as we used to call ourselves. (“P.O.T.” meaning “Parents of Toddlers: Because You’ll Need to Smoke Some to Get Through These Years!”)
Because mommyhood is hard, and you need all the support you can get. Spanx and sisters included.
Really.
They are awesome and necessary and well loved by many moms.
Unfortunately, the “organized” ones weren’t quite my cup o’ tea either.
Actually, I’ve only been to two.
But both of them made me feel very un-motherly.
And I make myself feel that way just fine already, so I really don’t need any encouragement from others.
Too many of them just go by the name of the area they’re in, like “Town I Live in Mommies.”
It’s misleading.
These moms were very into their crafty ways.
Let me again say that’s totally cool.
More power to those of you who find love and freedom in your craft.
It’s just that I would much rather pay you to do mine than sit and do it myself.
After all, I have my own addictions to feed…like gossip magazines, thrift shopping, and blogging.
{each to our own, right?}
I mean, I may not be high class, but I’m sure I do have some class.
Unfortunately, the other moms didn’t seem to think so when I showed up for the “Mommy’s Night Out” with doughnuts in hand.
I heard snickers and snide remarks: “Oh my word, who brought doughnuts?!?”
And, “Are you kidding me, are those really doughnuts?”
To which I replied, “What?!? Mama needed some doughnuts! Why you gotta diss? Shooot!”
(And by “replied,” I mean, of course, that I thought it in my head! Come on now, I said I have some class!!!)
So, you see, if they had just named their playgroup…
“Moms That Are Too Good for Doughnuts,”
I never would have found myself in that situation to begin with.
Because I could never be part of a group that didn’t embrace fried bread and frosting.
They have a message board that I used from time to time.
I officially knew it wasn’t the group for me when I posted a message asking which BPA free bottles would be best to use.
And instead of help, I got a backlash of whisper and chatter:
“Who is that girl asking about bottles? Ugh, I just wanted to respond, ‘Doesn’t she know that Breast Is Best?'”
(I had an insider in the group, so I know these things!)
I mean, come on now!
At least I was asking about BPA FREE bottles! Don’t I get some credit for that?
After all, it’s a requirement that seems to go with motherhood (along with breastfeeding). You simply must be affiliated with a playgroup.
It’s the unspoken word on the street.