I’m a Bitch, I’m a Mother

I’ve never been much of a social butterfly. Or any other charming insect for that matter of fact, except for the kind that are plastered to the windows of a car. Ok, maybe a housefly.

I’ve lost touch with most school friends; you know, when you realize that you talk about the Easter egg-fight of ‘96 and basketball championship fouls of ‘97 every single time you meet because you have nothing else in common anymore? Gave the finger to undergrad friends due to shitloads of drama. Adios to grad school friends because New York meant a clean start. And no more hanging out with work buddies during lunch (thanks to pumping) and after work (because I’m sober). Any new acquaintance I make spews forth too much gyaan on parenting that’s often diametrically opposite to my line of thinking, so I tend to avoid them. What with me being petrified of talking on the phone, I figured the blogosphere’s my best bet.

The beauty of a blogging community is that one’s interactions are not bound by location or circumstance. After lurking around techie newsgroups back in the day, too afraid to post lest I was minced and fed to the dogs for a misplaced comma, I was shocked to find a friendly bunch of mommy bloggers. Of course, I did make an ass of myself there too, by solving the Riddle-me-ree fair game on Y’s commentspace that was meant for Mothers To Be (hey, I thought MTBs meant Moms That Blog!). After a brief dammit-I’m-not-cool-enough-to-play moment, I promptly reminded myself that I was not in high school anymore and decided to enjoy from the sidelines (Kick Ass idea btw; so cool for the real MTBs!). It did make me realize one thing though – it’s not always about ME.

I always want the people I hang out with to have interests and opinions similar to mine. Once I find such people, I always want them to approach me and break the ice. So I’m introverted and scared that they may not like me, but it totally comes across as being bitchy. Plus that’s no excuse for not making a fucking effort, eh? At least now, for Nibbles’ sake. I can’t let my anti-social vibe color his innate friendliness.

So with great expectations and new-found enthusiasm, I headed to the community boardwalk with my Nibbles. I flashed my chai-stained smile at every mom/nanny with a stroller, but chickened out when it was time to make eye contact and hid my face behind a bouncing Nibbles. After a while, I felt pathetic, like one of those beggars or desperate romeos that display a baby to attract kind attention. Just as I was wallowing in self-pity for the fungal lifeform that I am, Nibbles turns around and chatters, “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma…”. In all probability he was excited by the huge cruise ship that sailed past us, but I instantly perked up and squeezed him purple, “I love hanging out with you too Nibbles!”

 And the soundtrack of life played Meredith Brooks:
I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother,
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint,
And I do not feel ashamed…