Alone in a Crowd
I'm the only one who had kids.
by L.J. Williamson
November 21, 2007
In certain circles, having children is not the most fashionable thing to do. It's often regarded as a curious, amusing, but why would anyone want to do that to their life? sort of thing. Strangely enough, I happen to be part of one of these circles, and I've got two kids.
What was I supposed to do — tell my friends that they'd better get on the procreation ball pronto, because I needed some company? Believe me, I tried. No one listened. They all just sat around making flimsy excuses like, "I enjoy my freedom too much," or "I don't have a partner," or "The world is overpopulated enough as it is," or "I'm too broke," or "I'm gay." So they left us to be the sole childbearing trailblazers of our friend-family.
To be fair, a few friends did manage to work up the nerve to have children, but they responded to the blessed event by immediately packing up and leaving L.A., muttering something as they left about no longer wanting to spend 95% of their income on housing or 95% of their time on freeways or some such nonsense.
So I was left to try to connect with other parents through various places like Gymboree or HipMama.com, but I just couldn't make it work. Gymboree was a consumerist nightmare, and it turns out every mama believes she's a hip mama — even the ones who think they're edgy because they tried sushi once and get all of Cathy Guisewite's jokes. Sure, there must be parents out there who share my sensibilities, but I just wasn't finding them, and screening a potential friend through a parenthood filter seemed kind of ass-backwards to me anyway. My friendships had always come about more organically, and seeking out potential friend candidates in such an organized way often left me feeling as if I'd just been through a bad internet date. Worse, actually, because on a date there's at least the potential that you might get laid. On a toddler playdate, not so much.
I learned that parenthood alone isn't enough commonality to base a friendship on, and afterwards many I don't want be the one whose crying baby is the buzzkill at your pirates vs. ninjas vs. klowns on stripperpoles bacchanal.of these meetings, I'd run screaming back to my friends, who, though childless, know how to crack wise and smart off in a way I've never heard anyone do at Mommy & Me.
I envied those people whom I overheard saying, "It seems like everyone we know is having kids these days!" and faux-complaining about all of the baby shower invitations they were getting. Most of the invitations I get are to parties I can't attend because (a) they start too late at night, (b) I don't have babysitting, or (c) the presence of children might inhibit the planned degree of drunken debauchery. Hey, I don't want be the one whose crying baby is the buzzkill at your pirates vs. ninjas vs. klowns-on-stripper-poles bacchanal, so I guess I'll stay home. Yeah, my friends still do that kind of stuff for entertainment. They have to, because they don't have kids.
Not only was I turning down more party invitations now that I was a parent, but I also began keeping radically different hours from most of my friends. I'd call a confidante during the afternoon, but they'd usually have trouble squeezing time for my hour-long sob story about my son's incurable diaper rash into their work day. By 5:00 p.m., when friends were finally ready to unwind and socialize, the busiest part of my day would be beginning, with dinner, homework, baths, toy put-aways, and story time. Right around the time my friends were meeting for drinks, I'd be collapsing into bed. I crammed what socializing I could into the weekends, but it didn't keep me from feeling extremely isolated much of the time, especially in the early days of my struggle to make the adjustment to the stay-at-home lifestyle.
©2007 L.J. Williamson and Nerve Media
About the Author
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L.J. Williamson is a writer from Los Angeles. Her complaints have been printed in The Los Angeles Times, Salon.com, and Utne, to name a few. She lives with her husband, Monkey Man, and their two children, Fifi Bird
and Sugar Guy. Her website is ljwilliamson.com. |
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