The strong aroma of the chlorine water permeated the air already filled with toddler squeals mixed in with the occasional stern warning. My 2 year old bolted out his stroller impatiently stomping his brand new DC sneakers waiting on me to get my shit together.
Before today, our only sense of adventure was a walk through the neighborhood park or a day slapping paint all over the easel so this was a big deal. Personally I was looking forward to a medal if I survived the day; it should read “Official Mom”.
Walking into the waiting area I swore the clerk hiding behind her laptop pierced her lips when I approached her but it was easier to think she had just let out a tiny burp.
Truth is, I’m a 24 year old stuck with a 16 year old face and a 2 year old toddler who I’m convinced is already half my height. My tattoos cover half my body and my piercings make me uncomfortable around veteran moms .
So just imagine how much I wanted to die when the locker room doors gave way to a hive of half naked moms toting swimsuit clad tots. The stares didn’t make me half as uncomfortable as the open changing area or rather the open area.
It was only a matter of time before my hands had steadied enough to strap on my bikini and as i made my way to the pool I flirted dangerously with the idea of fleeing.
Nevermind that I knew nothing about swimming myself,I had to stick it out.
No. I couldn’t be a punk. I wanted that medal.
The water was warm and as I took a deep breath I secretly wished the water to drown the nervous pitter patter dancing around in my stomach. I could see the giggles bubbling up from splashing limbs as balls and fishes and ducks served as their prime targets.The eyes that turned to invite us were warm and welcoming; nothing like the cold stares I had conjured up in my hasty imagination.
Looking back, I am not sure if it hit me then or in the 40 mimutes of waddling around playing Humpty Dumpty and Tick Tock in the water but it dawned on me that I was being silly. And maybe a beer after that to admit I wasn’t being silly because of my anxiety, but because I wasn’t ready to give the whole experience a chance.
I didn’t want to have a nice time really.
I wanted to have something to rant to my husband about so I could feel better about my ugly fear of meeting moms.
I didn’t want to enjoy it.
It makes me feel as if im inserted into the episode of Everybody Loves Raymond when Deborah is coerced into throwing a Tupperware party and the poor thing didn’t even know what Tupperware was. I don’t have mommy etiquette and I have no idea what this parenting thing is about.
But that’s okay.
Sometimes I forget the bigger picture; my little guy is the focus here and as long as that smile on his face is always real then I’ll be OK.
How about you?
Please tell me I’m not the only one to feel this way!
Cheers,
TheDecader
thedecader.wordpress.com 