Another lesson in the works

I woke up this morning, the promise of snow propelling my feet from under the covers like a kid who can't possibly get back to sleep now that school's canceled. I peeked out the window. Snow? No, just dust on the blinds. Trudging through the hall and into the light of the living room, I realized with great surprise that it DID snow. And why I'm not more excited, I don't know. I suppose I could take Bella out in it again before it melts, take photos of the fluffy trees, the slushy ground. Three months is a long time to remember having experienced something. But with happy seedlings ready to go into the garden, somehow I'm not feeling the snow love today.

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The library, we finally made it. Baby Story Time. Time to meet people. Time to make friends. Time to socialize, for Bella and for me.

Getting here has been next to impossible since a 10:30 start time requires us actually setting an alarm and waking up early. Most of the babies here have been up all morning and are ready to go down for a nap. Bella and I are still wiping sleep from our eyes as we rush through the door.

There are almost twenty babies here. Bella's never seen so many babies in her life, and she looks up at me like she thinks I might have brought her to the loony bin. Each mom settles in with a baby on her lap, the ones with twins have one on each knee. There I am, making mental comparisons and guesses about age. The baby next to us is the same age as Bella and she's walking. The baby across the room smiles more than Bella, is that possible? I resist the urge to tickle my sleepy baby to prove she smiles, too. That one reached for a bubble when not a single other one did. Ooh, that one's a bit... uhm, grouchy looking. Comparing isn't judging if you don't say it out loud, right? Bella just vegges on my lap, wondering why we are here and why none of the adults are paying attention to her. We don't know any adults with babies. She is THE baby.

The story teller makes her way around with name rhymes and puppets. The babies bounce on their mommies' knees with varying degrees of enthusiasm, the mommies sing and clap along as they get into it. What a pair we are, sitting there like someone slathered molasses all over our chair, staring out at our peers in awe. Suddenly I'm self conscious. We must look like ridiculous sticks in the mud in a room full of happiness swaying in the wind. I can't remember the words to Mary Had A Little Lamb. Bella hates it when I clap her hands for her so I'm clapping alone. How many times can they repeat the same tune? I suppose babies do love repetition. Do it for the babies. That's why we're all here, isn't it?

By the time we get to open play time, Bella and I have woken up and warmed to the group dynamic considerably. The babies dive in to a pile of books in the center of the circle and the moms do their best to seem genuine while chatting. Once again, Bella and I seem like vegetables in a room full of wild flowers. We've managed to slide off our chairs onto the floor and another mom hands us a book since we haven't yet reached for one ourselves.

I'm not shy, so to speak. But I'm awkward and I hate feeling like I'm back in high school on the outskirts of the in crowd. Yes, to a degree it's all perceived, but still I feel like I have nothing in common with so many of the people here.

(Starting with the fact that my daughter is not the center of their universe....)

We don't listen to children's songs. It's classic rock or classical guitar or the radio. Music is music, and I don't believe it has to be lame to be appealing. We're at the library to interact with babies, so let me confess that we also don't read that many books. It becomes a grabbing war and ends in me reading words from memory and Bella gnawing on the cover. She destroys books more quickly than our rabbit.

We don't have bouncy singalong clapping time. We go on hikes, Bella sits with me in the grass while I garden or we play catch with a ball. We buzz our lips like trumpeters, cluck our tongues at each other, and make sounds like dying balloons. I wanted to give Bella a chance to meet other babies and learn to play with people her own size, but it could not have been more obvious that in a group of people, Bella and I both would prefer to sit and observe, interrupted by the occasional hello.

I don't really care when your baby will start swimming lessons. I've given up worrying about who's walking, who's crawling, who's teething, and how old they are, at least in settings like this. I know they're leaping points we use to start conversations and keep ourselves from feeling alone, but in here we're not making connections, united by common woes. We're competing in the name of Best Mother, Best Baby. The conversations are designed to pit us against each other and I'm trying to be gentle this year, remember?

I stared at the mom who mentioned for the tenth time how huge her boy twin was (he was) as she basked in the responses of incredulity. I watched with a bit of envy as the baby next to us toddled over to the basket of books and navigated past all the squirmy blobs on the floor, book in hand, back to her mom. And then I felt bad for her as the other moms said with relief (and at full volume to assure everyone that their words were not incited by jealousy) Thank God mine's not that mobile. And suddenly, because her baby had achieved too much, Mom of Walking Baby had to bring out the Keeping Up With Big Brother defense. I quietly looked on moments later as the same moms put their heads back together and began a volley of She's standing on her own and ready to crawl and she's only x months and we hope she'll wait for our sakes, but, my, look how talented she is!

I've been there. Everyone's baby is the best. Every mom strives to make her baby look like the special-est in a group of twenty very special, uniquely deserving individuals. It's the world's worst competition and I've decided I'd rather watch than engage. I don't like hearing those things escape my mouth, and yet I know they will the moment I step within the circle. What mom can resist defending her child's individuality and lifetime achievements? I don't know where that leaves me in terms of mommy groups. What topics are left when we've exhausted the superficial details, but what's the point if I don't open my mouth the whole time? Did I mention I'm not a group person... I suppose we'll keep going, though, and see where it takes us.