The Outsider Inside Her

ed: updated below

Outside/Inside

When your first child was born you were alone. Unable to talk to the other moms at the playground or the Music Together class or the YMCA. Every time you opened your mouth everything came out wrong so you stopped even trying. Everywhere you turned you found yourself faced with another mother's subscriptions to parenting philosophies you didn't understand.

You were almost part of a group once but it didn't work out. You weren't their type. You knew it the moment you pushed your son into the shade of their tree. You were "so young" they said, patting you on the head like a puppy, so cute how you always forgot to bring extra wet wipes, so sad that your son's fingernails were always too long and so dirty.

"When was the last time you cut them?"

"Um... Wait. Are you serious?"

You thought you were becoming friends until that one day happened when you all went to lunch and everyone ordered while you were in the bathroom (trying to workshop a diaper that exploded and the tantrum that followed) so your food came late and no one waited and it shouldn't have mattered but it did and then everyone left while you were still eating because "the kids were rowdy and sorry about that. Hope you have a nice lunch."

So you ate alone with your baby in your lap as everyone else walked on, pushing their matching strollers in their matching yoga pants down the boulevard as you sat by yourself at a vacated table for six, dejected and that was the end of that.

You never found your group so you stopped looking. Pulled your hood over your head and called yourself a misfit. Crossed the street whenever you saw a stroller coming in the opposite direction. Smiled first but always crossed the street.

You threw away emails from PR people trying to sell you antibacterial detergent and tupperware and khaki pants, free samples of hamburger helper, coupons for baby food. You changed the channel whenever accosted by the white-shirted "every mom" and her perfectly white walls without fingerprint stains.

Birthday parties were always interesting. You never knew whether to stand by the BBQ or watch your son on the bouncie thing. You were awkward with introductions, felt like the token little girl at the adult table because you were young and new and never attended parenting classes or lamaze or even college. So you said, hello, and sipped your tap water and checked your cell phone for missed calls you didn't have.

Sometimes it's safer that way. To be on the outside. To stand in the back of the birthday party and watch all the other parents drink beers and talk about private school and when a good time might be to fix the deck. It's safer to take your place on the outside. So instead of making small talk you try to visualize them all having sex with each other and when they ask you what's so funny you shake your head and say, "kids say the darndest things."

You always felt like a child with children. You wished you could find a group of moms who felt the same way, who were just like you in a land where everybody ate together at lunch.

Then one day you wake up to the face of your second child, your baby, and you realize you're kind of a grown-up now so maybe you should start acting like one. You're twenty-seven years old. Which sounds so much older than twenty-three when you say it aloud.

And you go about your day feeling differently about people and yourself. Less need to rebel against the stereotypes you were always afraid would swallow you whole because you've been a parent for four years, now, and you've never stopped being yourself.

"No one is going to steal your identity," you tell yourself. "You can relax"

You feel like a grown-up now. Like someone who has a husband and a family and a career. You never felt like that until now. Until the baby came. No one is going to steal your identity. You can relax. It's called growing up and you're happy to do it. You're tired of sitting at the kid's table. The chairs are too small.

You start to look closer. Pay attention. Listen. Strip away the twin jogging suits and matching strollers. Forget about the age differences and opinions and the fact that you will never remember to pack extra wipes, until everyone is just like you. Not on the outside of course. Not in experience or in parenting philosophy but in the way you always felt like you never belonged.

And the next thing you know you're at your son's friend's birthday party, talking with the other parents, and it isn't weird or awkward but totally organic and even though you don't have a deck to fix you do have an opinion about private vs public schooling. Something you never had an opinion on until recently.

You're on the inside, with no recollection of how you got there. Surrounded by other mothers. Mothers of all ages and opinions and styles and professions and you're proud to be among them. You don't want to stand by the BBQ or by the bouncie thing but with them -- you want to hear their stories and share yours. You wonder what changed. Was it them or was it you or was it the weather? Global warming is known to melt ice caps.

Everyone is just like you on the inside, you think. Outsiders who don't know who to call or where to sign or how to belong or which PPO plan is good for their families. And everywhere you look you see the women in their matching yoga pants and strollers, jogging down the sidewalks. Except you see them differently all a sudden. They no longer scare you or threaten you or cause you to turn around.

Instead you keep walking, maybe even wave because we're all in this together. Because sometimes we have to run away before we turn around and come home. And it's nice to be a part of something.

You don't always have to be on the outside of things to be yourself...

How has motherhood made you a misfit? Have you found that parenthood has made it easier or more difficult to make friends? Do you rebel against the cliches of modern motherhood or embrace them? How have you changed?

I'll pick one commenter at random to win a brand new Micralite Toro stroller (pictured above and below), care of my fab friends at Micralite and Scandinavian Child.

Winner will be picked at random by noon PST Wednesday. Good luck!

GGC

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Update: Thank you so much for your stories and support and ever honesty. For reminding me daily that I'm not alone. For reminding each other. You are my people, my mom's group, my best friends. I love you all and wish I could pick all of you at random to receive presents.

Congrats to Sarah at Becoming Sarah for being comment #110 (random.org) and sharing your story. Enjoy your new Toro stroller and congrats on your pregnancy!

And to all you local-to-L.A. moms -- I'd love to organize a "judgment free" meet-up so we can love on each other, make friends, lend support, compliment each other's shoes. Please email me if you're interested!