Competitive Parenting

I was at story time at the public library a few days ago, and the Library Lady asked the kids what sound a kitty makes. I laughed to myself, as the room was filled with babies who were either drooling, pulling their mother's hair, or both (like my kid) when an adorable, crystal clear baby voice sang out "meow!" We all laughed, but not in a "your kid's so cute" kind of way. It was an "oh my gosh, someone else's kid can do something that mine can't, clearly my child has a learning disability/horrible side effect from all her vaccines" kind of way. The voice belonged to Sally (name changed to protect the innocent), a small, bald 18 month old who could walk, talk in complete sentences, and make the rest of us moms of ordinary babies very uncomfortable.

Why is it that mothers are insanely competitive? It's bad enough during pregnancy. I remember shopping for maternity clothes and seeing other pregnant women, and quickly assessing how I looked compared to them. Although, to my credit, I was convinced that I looked much better than I actually did, so I usually came out on top. (That's what she said.) If the other shopper was smaller than me, I decided that clearly she was not as far along as I was or that her baby was surely much smaller (imagine my surprise when Captain Destructo came out at 7 pounds, and not 35 1/2 as I thought based on the amount of weight I had gained). When the babies are born, the competition takes on a whole new dimension. We try to pretend that we don't care that our kids are not as advanced as others. I know I said "it's no big deal, she'll develop at her own pace" multiple times to people when trying to explain why Captain Destructo wasn't rolling over at 6 months, when in actually at home I was googling "average time to roll over in infants" and forcing the poor child to spend all her time on her tummy. People tried to calm my fears by saying super helpful things like "it takes bigger babies longer to roll over." So now she's fat and slow? Thanks.

The other thing mothers do is attempt to justify why other kids can do things that ours can't. I know I am guilty of this. When I first heard Sally reciting soliloquies at story time, I leaned over and said to her mother "Sally's a great talker! Does she have older brothers and sisters?"
"She has a 12 year old sister," her mother explained. "Does M?"
"No, she's our first," I replied, while thinking "ah-ha! That 12 year old sister must spend all her time teaching Sally to talk."

I wonder if babies go through this. Are we born with an innate desire to be the best? Does Captain Destructo walk around thinking "hey, that other baby can make the noise for the cow and I can't. I must prove my superiority." Or, "is it me or is her butt much smaller that mine in that diaper?" (This is my fault-we cloth diaper and her booty is huge in her diapers.) For her sake I hope not. I guess all I can do is continue to build her self-esteem by teaching her new cute tricks on a regular basis and showing off as much as possible.

My Kid Can Beat Up Your Honor Student

I love kids. I was a teacher before Captain Destructo and in my spare time I babysat and volunteered in the nursery. It was a great day when I made a baby laugh at the grocery store or played with someone's kid. And then I had kids of my own.

It's not that I don't like other people's kids anymore. I do. They're all well and good, but I like them (a) far less than my kid, and (b) far less than I did before she was born. (I hope I'm not offending anyone. Your kids are great, really. You know what I mean, right?)

I came to this realization while at playgrounds with Captain Destructo. Except for the past few days, the weather here has been very un-Texas like, forcing us to find somewhere to go before I lose my mind. One week we went to the germ factory known as the indoor playground at the mall. There were 2 little girls playing nicely until Captain Destructo toddled in, and they proceeded to stick to her like glue, following her around, even going so far as to touch her face with their grubby little hands. Now, 2 years ago I would have thought this was adorable, but now all I can think is, for God's sake, take your germy selves away from my daughter. Of course, their parents were talking on cell phones and ignoring them, so I (politely of course) told them Captain Destructo could play by herself.

The next week, at a different, more crowded, playground, Captain Destructo got her hair pulled by another toddler. It was so sad I almost cried-she was all excited and crawled up to her new friend, and New Friend grabbed 2 handfuls of her cute little hair and yanked until her mom pried her terrorist hands off. Now whenever we see this little girl I pick Captain Destructo up and move her. I'm sure this is just the beginning of assault by other kids-at this time most of M's wounds are self-inflicted-and the thought of other kids hurting her seriously breaks my heart. Heck, even the thought of other kids taking her toys makes me sad.

On a completely unrelated note, is anyone else sick of the Winter Olympics? I wish they would just get rid of them altogether. Seriously, did you just preempt The Office for curling? You like watching curling? Come watch me sweep my floors. It's actually more interesting as I am doing it at warp speed to keep Captain Destructo from eating the dirt pile.

Have a great day y'all.