if I drove a motorcycle

If I drove a motorcycle or a bus, things would be so much easier. In those subcultures, you know you are supposed to wave at others of your kind when you pass them on the street. Things aren’t nearly as clear among people with babies. The wave isn’t a given. There are awkward half-nods and unilateral greetings that can prove very frustrating. You think the average person has it hard deciding just when to look up and how much eye contact to maintain when walking by a stranger on the street? Well, that’s nothing compared to the mental dance you have to do when you are carrying a baby and approaching someone else who is carrying a baby. It’s exhausting!

No one is sure what to do. Ignoring seems a bit harsh, while greeting sends the message of "Hi, I don’t know you and you don’t know me, and the only reason we are acknowledging one another is that we both have kids, but that’s where our commonality ends since I don’t even like your shoes."

Then there are those mothers of older babies – the ones that tell you their kids’ age in months instead of weeks – who look at you all snobby-like. Their half-nod says "Ha! I only get up once a night. I can see straight. I’ve been where you are now, but I won’t admit it. Oh, and my kid’s clothes match too." They’re the poor soul that makes it out of the ghetto and forgets where he came from. If we were middle school boys, I’d be the sixth grader and they’d be the eighth grader and they’d flush my head in the toilet.

Can you see I’m under just a wee bit of pressure here? Maybe I’ll ask for a motorcycle or a big rig license for my next mother’s day.