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Wednesday, July 30, 2008


Twenty-seven going on twenty-eight. Just for the record, that's how old I am. Apparently I look about 10 years younger. Ever since I had my daughter, she is almost 13 months, I've been getting awkward stares and questions wherever I go.

For example: I was in the grocery store and this old man toddled up to me and asked if she was my daughter and I sweetly replied "yes". "Oh, (look of death) you look so young to have a child", he replied. "Oh, you look too old to still be standing", I think to myself. Another incident occurred during a playgroup I take her too twice a week. I was walking through the library, where this is held, and an elderly Asian gentlemen comes up to me. "Ohhhhh, you loo so yun to be haing babaaaaay." Oh yeah, well "I think I saw a stray cat behind the dumpster at K-Mart, you may want to hurry."

I just don't get it. Is there some class at the senior center that teaches the elderly how to belittle women that may or may not be too young to have a child. What business is it of anyone how old I am or that I am a mother?

This brings me to my next issue. This playgroup that I attend. Most of the other mothers that go are probably at least ten years older than I am. There are some my age and some grandmothers that bring their grandchildren.

Most of the women my age have brand new babies and one other child that is feeling neglected and chooses to show it during this time. I don't feel comfortable having a conversation with someone when their breast is exposed while nursing their child. I don't feel comfortable having conversations with these older women due to the fact that they look at me like I stole precious time away from their childbearing years. Hey, it's not my fault that you waited until your biological clock switched to it's backup battery before you decided to get knocked up. Lastly, I don't feel comfortable having conversations with these grandmother's who obviously got stuck taking care of these children and bring them to this group so they can terrorize the rest of us for a full hour.

Why do I even go, you ask? Well, it is one of those great mysteries in life. I put myself in this uncomfortable space twice a week for one hour because my daughter loves it. She loves dancing and clapping along when they sing songs. She loves digging through the toys to find the exact one she wants. She loves looking at the other children like they are insane. (Wonder where she gets that from?)

I put myself in that situation because that is what mothers do. We sacrifice our own needs and wants for the needs of our children.

Do I want recognition for the sacrifice? No.

Do I want people to change? No.

Am I craving Chinese food now? YES!

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