Just a Girl
So, I have been complaining about feeling isolated lately. Not that I mind being home with Millie for most of the week. Quite the contrary, I hate leaving her and miss her when I'm gone. However, I feel like it might be nice to have other people to talk to during the day, especially other women. Which is one of the oddest statements I have ever uttered.
I grew up with three brothers in a neighborhood full of boys. I never enjoyed large groups of women. I lasted about 12 minutes in Brownies before being disgusted by the catty girls and bad uniforms. I hung out with boys at school, took shop and graphic arts classes in high school, and refused the usual trappings for 16 year old girls. I was mistaken for a boy in junior high (largely thanks to an unfortunate "accident" by my hairdresser). I was mistaken for a man in Nova Scotia two summers ago (although I had long hair in braids and a decidedly female rump...). Twice. I own a nicer power drill than my husband. I inherited my great great great grandfather's ship building tool chest over my three brothers. I love basketball and baseball and hockey. Large groups (or small groups) of women were never my comfort zone.
Somehow motherhood has modified that. I don't yearn to run the beauty pageant circuit or work at Talbot's, but some connection to other women with ovaries and spit-up on their sweaters trying to manage motherhood and careers and being a spouse might be nice. Or horrible. I haven't decided.
I signed up for a playgroup in our area. The women communicate via email and meet at various kid-friendly places. They seem like sweet, smart women with darling children. I don't know that Millie and I would exactly fit in. They sent around one of those email surveys for which I am a total whore. You know the ones-asking queer questions about things people shouldn't waste their time with thinking about, but do anyway. It's usually couched in a "get to know your friends better" kind of veil. I love them!!! Anywho, the playgroup moms sent one around, largely revolving around being a mother. I answered it as one of my first communications, injected with my usual bit o' sarcasm and cynicism. I got the sense it wasn't exactly appreciated. Whoops. Their emails are supportive, kind, and helpful. Full of sweet cheer and a "atta girl" attitude. My daughter yelling at the top of her lungs just for the sake of yelling and my sometimes snarky attitude might not fit in.
Perhaps I'll suck it up and go to a playgroup. What's the worst that could happen? They ask us to not come back? I've been kicked out of worse places.
I grew up with three brothers in a neighborhood full of boys. I never enjoyed large groups of women. I lasted about 12 minutes in Brownies before being disgusted by the catty girls and bad uniforms. I hung out with boys at school, took shop and graphic arts classes in high school, and refused the usual trappings for 16 year old girls. I was mistaken for a boy in junior high (largely thanks to an unfortunate "accident" by my hairdresser). I was mistaken for a man in Nova Scotia two summers ago (although I had long hair in braids and a decidedly female rump...). Twice. I own a nicer power drill than my husband. I inherited my great great great grandfather's ship building tool chest over my three brothers. I love basketball and baseball and hockey. Large groups (or small groups) of women were never my comfort zone.
Somehow motherhood has modified that. I don't yearn to run the beauty pageant circuit or work at Talbot's, but some connection to other women with ovaries and spit-up on their sweaters trying to manage motherhood and careers and being a spouse might be nice. Or horrible. I haven't decided.
I signed up for a playgroup in our area. The women communicate via email and meet at various kid-friendly places. They seem like sweet, smart women with darling children. I don't know that Millie and I would exactly fit in. They sent around one of those email surveys for which I am a total whore. You know the ones-asking queer questions about things people shouldn't waste their time with thinking about, but do anyway. It's usually couched in a "get to know your friends better" kind of veil. I love them!!! Anywho, the playgroup moms sent one around, largely revolving around being a mother. I answered it as one of my first communications, injected with my usual bit o' sarcasm and cynicism. I got the sense it wasn't exactly appreciated. Whoops. Their emails are supportive, kind, and helpful. Full of sweet cheer and a "atta girl" attitude. My daughter yelling at the top of her lungs just for the sake of yelling and my sometimes snarky attitude might not fit in.
Perhaps I'll suck it up and go to a playgroup. What's the worst that could happen? They ask us to not come back? I've been kicked out of worse places.
posted by Kris at 8:31 AM
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