In certain situations, mothers stand alone against a sea of stupidity. I’m talking unwanted advice, idiotic interrogations, or unnecessary beratements (beration? Beratings? Wtf is the noun form of berate?) that we all receive. I have a few such incidents which occurred to me over the weekend. In my last post, I recounted the story of flying to our prospective families’ homes. The trip was fairly smooth overall. Let’s take a look at the journey back.
We had a pretty easy go at the Atlanta Airport Security line, having been able to go through the VIP section of the line (this more than made up for not having been allowed on the plane first). The TSA agents were super nice and efficient with their gigantic bins. There was also a nice woman and her daughter who had us go in front of them. Wow. We made it through with enough time to go to the bathroom. There, a woman noticed me struggling with my infant and gigantic diaper bag (I still haven’t learned), and helped me carry my stuff. “We’re in this together.” Thank you, lady, you’re an amazing, beautiful person.
All these events made me believe in good omens. This trip home would be perfect. You know who else thought his life was going well? The Count of Monte Cristo.
We got onto the plane.
“Oh my goodness! Your baby is so cute! And boy is she little. Was she a preemie?”
No, ass. I stared blankly at her for a moment. Look at me. I’m five freaking feet tall. Look, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being premature, and I don’t mean to make the word have a negative connotation. I was premature as were four of my sisters. We all turned out wonderfully and at least somewhat put together. But, my God, why? Is this not a super personal question? What if she did have difficulty during her birth or eating or growing? What if she is underweight and it’s a sore subject? Why would you ask me that?
Maybe she meant well…but, I still think it’s stupid.
My Mom’s group on Facebook believes I’m overreacting to this situation, and I get that. Honestly, my mom’s group is full of beautiful, competent women. And I get that other moms may just want to bond with you. Perhaps I’m too private. But this comment on my daughter’s small stature infuriated me.
But, I acted with appeasement. I smiled, “Oh, no, she’s just small like her mama.”
“Oh! It’s just that she’s so little…” Yes, I get it. She’s little. Do you want me to give her a donut?
I laughed again and just walked to my seat. I hate her.
My daughter was mostly good with few screaming episodes. In one instance, she had a poopsplosion. I took her to the restroom to change her and found that she had pooped ALL over her onesie. She just smiled at me and giggled. You know what you did. You know you’re cute. One day, I will hold this against you.
I didn’t have a onesie with me in the restroom, so I took McImp back to our seat sans onesie. She was just in a diaper. What was I supposed to do? Leave her in the bathroom?
As I was searching for the onesie, my husband was holding the babe. I found it and began to put it on my child.
A flight attendant approached us. He looked at me in disgust as my husband and I attempted to clothe our wiggling infant. “Excuse me, you must do that in the bathroom. This is, after all, public transportation.” He walked away smug at having an unnecessarily poor attitude with us.
Once again, I smiled. “Of course, I understand.”
The thing is, I don’t understand. We weren’t changing her in our seats. We aren’t heathens. It would be the equivalent of my husband or I putting a sweatshirt on while sitting on the airplane. I wanted so badly to lash out, to tell this flight attendant that I just wanted to more easily clothe my child. I wanted to explain that someone else was waiting for the bathroom when I left, and I would have a naked baby longer if I loomed outside of the restroom door waiting for the person to leave and obstruct a potential bathroom-goer from entering. No, I thought. I’ll just make it easier one everyone if I just changed her outfit in my seat.
But no. This is public transportation. Apparently, I’m inhibiting others’ comfortability. I hate him.
So, here is is. My outlet of attrition. I am building my strength against the idiots through my blog. Perhaps my venting is unfounded. Perhaps I’m easily offended or too harsh on others. Even so, here we are. Horrible moms who make life on others difficult through our attempts to figure it out.
You know what? We’re amazing.