My oldest is shortly turning four. It’s an AMAZING age. He’s not the douche canoe he was during his terrible two’s when I considered selling him to the first circus that made a reasonable offer. He’s not a baby, who can’t talk or really tell you what’s going on in their minds. He has thoughts and stories and he can make you laugh and he needs hugs and he loves gingerbread men. He’s a Batman fanatic and his favourite colour is blue, except for when it’s green. And despite all of the things I LOVE about being his mother, like the way he says, “I’m still fwee, mommy,” (‘I’m still three, mommy,’) I’m pretty sure I should just book ahead and get him into some solid therapy, now.
Last weekend, we went to his BFF’s birthday party…. and I’m PREEEEEEEEEEEEEETTY sure the mom hates me. Like, the very first thing she said to me was, “you’re late.” DAMN, BITCH. I HAVE A 16 MONTH OLD; YOU’RE LUCKY I’M WEARING PANTS!
Is this what it’s like, now? Not only do you never get away from the petty, selfishness of other people, but your children are forced to endure the slings and arrows of whether or not you’re popular in the mommmy-circle? Seems a bit mad to me! Now and then, I look at women like her, and I think to myself, “you may dislike me for whatever reason, but I’m going to tie down my choice of men later, and make them scream when they come. Can you say the same? No!” And I do an evil little Dominatrix cackle in my head… but the truth is, a part of me lives in fear.
I was NEVER popular in school. True, I had my own little circle of friends and I did ok, but I never scored high points with the girls who had perfect hair and shoes to match their dress. My first boyfriend was a drug dealer. The man who introduced me to BDSM is a weapons dealer (legally!). Frankly, until Special K, I never thought that flowers and date nights would be a “thing” for me. Is my son doomed? Tainted by my inability to fake-laugh and match a purse to my nails?
Maybe I should just start the “therapy fund” now.
Mommying is hard.