She hit a nerve.
Lately I’ve been wondering if I’ve become a boring mom. I haven’t seen a movie in the theater since “King Kong.” I can’t remember the last time I downloaded any music on my iPod. And any surfing I do on the internet is usually kid-related. Case in point: at 11:30 pm last night, I found myself searching for eczema cream and toddler-safe barrettes.
It’s not as though I ever considered myself any sort of hipster, but I liked to think of myself as someone who knew a thing or two about pop culture, new restaurants and fun road trips. Now all my thoughts revolve around my kids. Even when I’m away from them, it’s hard for me to let go.
Last month, I joined the ladies in my writing group for a night out in Portland. We met up at SPACE for a holiday art fair, and then went on to Katahdin for drinks and dinner. I’d been looking forward to the outing for days, but I was distracted. While my friends sipped wine and talked about everything from questionable high heels to their husbands’ cleaning habits, I found myself peeking at my watch and wondering about the baby, who was at home with a cold. No one would fault me for worrying about a sick child, but I didn’t want to be the mom who busted up a good time.
My concerns about being blasé grew over the holidays. During Christmas Eve dinner, I found myself making baby talk to Will. Adult conversation seemed too difficult to muster after a seven-hour drive to New Jersey. And, admittedly, it was a lot easier to entertain the baby then it was to make conversation with my sister’s new in-laws. The old me would have at least tried, but the new me just didn’t have the energy.
I used to judge women like myself. When I was childless, I remember coming home perturbed after a visit to a friend who had three kids. It seemed she couldn’t have a conversation anymore. I had driven two hours just to sit and watch her kids tear apart her house, while she talked about playgroups and potty training. I swore to myself I’d never be that mom, but now I realize it’s not that black and white.
The truth is these kids — my new little family — are a part of me now. And there’s nothing boring about that.
Jennifer Hazard lives and writes in Yarmouth.