I've always known there are crazies in this world. Before I had a baby, I would run into them occasionally. I'd met ones like the woman in the grocery store who turns her nose up at your cart when it isn't FULL of organic purchases, the woman in the department store who gives you "the look" when you've tried on something too small or too "young" for you, and and the woman (who is dressed to the nines) that you always see when your out running errands in gym clothes with your hair plastered to your head who just makes you feel like even more of a slob. Jeez...why are all these people women? They were always there, but to be perfectly honest...they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them. We both went about our merry little ways.
Then I got pregnant. All the women in my life that had ever been pregnant before started to bombard me with all the crazies stories. I heard about them all. People rubbing your belly without asking. People asking when you are due and what you are having. People asking personal questions about your pregnancy like your weight gain or how you plan on giving birth. Now these are all semi-normal conversations to have with people in your life that you are closest too...but I was being warned that I would experience this with strangers. One woman I taught with even rehashed her worst horror story where a woman actually crossed a street of traffic to corner her in one of these uncomfortable moments. (Again...why are ALL these people women??) I was mortified by these stories! Every time I left the house I was afraid of running into one of these people and (depending on the content and forcefulness of the conversation) causing a scene in the middle of wherever I was. And I did NOT want to be THAT pregnant lady.
But then a strange thing happened...I didn't meet any of them. Not one crazy my whole pregnancy! I had a few people ask me when I was due as I waited in the checkout line, but even that didn't happen until my last month when it was obvious the bulge in my belly wasn't from one too many cheeseburgers. No strange people rubbing my belly. No crazies telling me about the beauty of childbirth. (Though I did meet all kinds of women who LOVED being pregnant and thought it was the best time in their lives...me not so much.) I'm not sure what it was, but the crazies stayed away and I didn't ask any questions. Of course in the crazies staying away, I also got no nice help from strangers when I needed it...but that's a small price to pay to keep the loonies at bay! I thought I was home free...
That's when Lila was born. And the crazies came out of the woodwork like an army of ants searching for water. Out of nowhere...there they were...everywhere...all the time. Now here's the funny thing. I never meet them when I'm out by myself. My husband never has the pleasure of running into them when he's out with the baby. But when it's me and her out together, it's like a regular feeding frenzy! Here are some of my experiences with the crazies...
I've enrolled Lila in a baby swim class at the Y. It's really more of an introduction to water, but I wanted to get her started as soon as I could. I've been able to swim ever since I can remember and want the same for her. The first few lessons she was NOT a fan of the pool. In fact, she practically screamed the entire time. Since we have our lessons at the indoor pool, there is always some sort of water aerobics class going on at the other end. There was one lady (who looked like your typical uptight grandmother) who felt it was her business to give me the stink eye about my screaming child for two days straight. You could basically read the "what are you doing to that poor child you horrible, horrible mother" judgement all over her face. So I politely gave her the "you don't want to mess with me" look back and was saved from an actual encounter. Thankfully (for many reasons), Lila is starting to warm up to the water and I can avoid this part of her swim lesson...for now. Crazy #1.
The baby swim class is really a lot of fun. There are four kids, with their moms, we meet four days a week for thirty minutes for two weeks. It's been neat watching all of them each day splashing in the water, singing songs, and floating around. One of the things we do every time is to put your baby on the wall and teach them 1...2...3...JUMP! Our instructor says this is the most important thing to keep consistent as they are learning to swim since a crucial step for them to learn is to not jump into the water without you. So I ask what seemed to be a logical question. If consistency is the important key here, how do you translate that concept to an open water area where their is no wall, like the beach? "Good question," she said. "Let's ask the other moms and see what they think." Here's where I got attacked by one of the other moms as to the age of my child and how she was MUCH to young to go to the beach. Her oldest is four and STILL to young to go to the beach. WOW...ok. I recounted this story to my husband later who said..."You should have told her she's right. After all, woman who live at the beach never have children." Haha. Crazy #2.
It was errand day. Lila and I had our list of places to go and things we needed. First stop...Trader Joe's. (Side note: I LOVE Trader Joe's...more and more every time I go!) I got Lila out of the car, slung my purse over my shoulder, and walked up to the store front to get a cart. When I located a cart, the flap you have to push down in order for your child to sit in the cart was giving me trouble. It took three or four quick attempts to get it to click into place. Then, as I lifted my daughter off my hip to put her in the cart, a woman came sprinting out of the store. "Oh my gosh!" she said. "Do you need help? You look like you're going to drop her you're having so much trouble! Is there anything I can do?!?" I was dumbstruck. It felt like I stood there forever with my mouth open and daughter dangling above the cart in pure shock at the abruptness of this woman. I don't remember what I finally said. Probably something like "we're fine" before I got Lila settled and we went on with our shopping. Of course, she kept one eye on me the whole time I was in the store. Crazy #3.
So that was just THIS week. There isn't a day I go out with my daughter somewhere that I don't run into at least one of them. If we ever meet in a coffee shop one day, I'll be glad to entertain you with a few thousand more stories of people who should be in a padded cell. But sure enough, as we're talking, I'm sure one or two coo-coos will come over to tell me my daughter should be dressed differently, sitting differently, eating differently or something. There...that's it...you've been warned!
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