we're breaking up

I’m reminded through motherhood just how many people find it virtually impossible to do anything alone – including having a baby. I’m done with the mommy cliques. I’m done with the little circles of women too insecure to sit across the room from their friends, who wouldn’t dare bring their babes to mommy n me class in the onesie with the poop stains – only the latest matching, overpriced outfit, who, actually print and wear tee shirts that read "Olivia’s Mommy", who are free of dark rings under their eyes because of the mercy of grandparents in close geographic proximity or lots of make up they somehow have time to put on. Have you noticed I haven’t even really blogged about the mommy n me class? It’s not even material.

"Does anyone have any questions?"
As a matter of fact…
Why aren’t women treated like the goddesses they are?
How is it that doing the dishes has come to take precedent over finding time to maintain your relationship?
Why does thinking about immunizing my baby feel like closing my eyes and crossing my fingers?

My "classmates" clap hands over budding "toofies" and confess to each other how they "don’t want to miss a thing!"

Do I have to say it again? I love my baby. However, early motherhood to me is nothing less than an insane onslaught of exhaustion and emotion punctuated by flights away from my baby toward chocolate. When I can’t get back to sleep at night, I create acronyms of imaginary disgruntled mom’s organizations, like BOOBS: Bothered by the Oodles of Outrageous Bullshit in Society. I don’t fit in. (BTW, Brain, Child magazine’s current issue has a feature on the why/when/if of a mommy’s "revolution".)

We’re breaking up. No more mommy n me. Isaac and I will spend Mondays at the park and call it even.