So, I’m feeling like the last girl in fifth grade to get a bra.
That’s not exactly it. But sorta.
We don’t fit with anyone. Maybe what I really feel is like a hand-me-down bra.
Ok, forget the bras. Here’s the point. I don’t have any compatriot mother friends whose children’s ages match mine. It’s not a big deal, except that, with the ones with older kids, I’m watching them cruise into new heights of maturity and ease, I’m watching the mothers getting sleep and getting jobs, I’m feeling left behind in diaper land, they have Made it Through, so to speak, and I have not.
Other friends have only one kid, which means I feel saddlebagged, while they move about life with relative ease (not to say one child isn’t a hefty load, just that I feel like I’ve got extra.).
And then a few friends are just starting to have babies, and compared to them, I feel old, worn out, so far from the land of early mothering bliss that I’m like one of those saggy old ladies on those awful greeting cards that are all sarcastic and bitter and depressing.
Is this ridiculous? Do I somehow think that finding a woman with children exactly my kids’ ages would offer me comfort and relief?
Probably not. I’m thinking back a few months ago, being at a playgroup with a woman whose baby was only a couple weeks’ older than mine, our toddlers within a month of each other, and for some reason, I felt like there was this HUGE gap between her baby and my baby, and her baby was all smiley and mine was all asleep, and there were a few miserable moments of me feeling like –
well, just not fitting in.
The silly thing, of course, is that weeks and months and even years will hardly matter as time passes – none of my close friends are my age, for goodness’ sake – and with my toddler, at least, predicting a good play friend has less to do with age than with temperment.
So what’s my problem? I think, basically, I’m just experiencing a general exhaustion from parenting – with all the self-examination, self-doubt, and self-lessness it can entail. I am so happy for my friends who have gotten the hang of it – and I guess I’m worried that I never will. That they’ll leave me hanging.
Thank goodness this isn’t fifth grade!