you might think i’m a bitch because i’m not trying to make small talk when we pick our kids up from daycare at the same time, or while we’re playing with them at the park, or even while we’re both standing on the sidelines while we’re watching them do gymnastics.
you might think i’m a bitch because of my constant #rbf, or the fact that i don’t really talk at all.
i promise you, i am a bitch, but not because i think i’m better than you or that i’m not interested in making friends.
i could ask you your name, but i won’t remember it. i don’t remember your kids name – i barely remember their face – and i see them six times a week at drop off and pick up. i look at their pictures on the wall and i listen when dylan talks about the fun she’s had with them, but my mind draws a blank when it comes to knowing who people are nowadays.
you might think i’m a bitch, but i am just one of those mom’s who has reached capacity: i work from home, putting in 8-12 hour days when i can because we need the money. i clean the house and cook the food and raise the kids and try to find time for myself, which i’m the least successful at.
at the moment, i’m pregnant and sometimes i forget what i’m doing in the middle of doing it. i misplace blood test requisition forms, my sunglasses, my tums, my purse, and sometimes the pen i’m using while i’m using it.
i long to make new friends, mom friends, any friends. people i can talk to who won’t scream at me for doing their hair wrong or fill me with rage when they chew with their mouths open. but i just don’t have the energy. i miss my own friends, who are too far away to see, but i don’t know how to make the time to get down to see them because i haven’t figured out how to drive yet and the prospect terrifies me.
i harbor a lot of guilt for stopping at the starbucks down the street instead of walking the extra five minutes to see the smiling faces of the people at the local coffee shop. i like their coffee and the atmosphere of their cozy cafes, but i’m tired and i don’t really want to go that far or be that friendly.
and i’m embarrassed. you probably won’t mind if i look you in the eye, dark circles around mine, and say, “listen, i’m sorry, but i forgot your name, things just don’t stick like they used to. i’m one of those moms.” because at least i’m making the effort, but i still find it embarrassing that i’m barely keeping it all together.
momming is hard work. some of us are a lot better at it than others, more natural. some of us can divide their focus accordingly.
of course, they do say that being forgetful is a sign of intelligence, so i may just go with that. the absent-minded mommy. and maybe one day it will come back to me, we can only hope. if you could be patient, that would be great. if not, i’ll nod and smile the next time we walk past each other through the hall on our way in or out of daycare, cuz i’m pretty sure there’s a good chance you’re one of those moms too.