The Pariah on the Playground
This morning my friend, Ali, sent me a link to an article in New York Magazine, The Bitch on the Playground— An Amy Sohn piece about the ins and outs of mommy social circles. I’ve been dabbling in childcare for almost two years; since I left my desk job and needed some padding to fill out the teaching, sewing and printing jobs.
When I first became immersed in the Park Slope baby scene, most of the kids I took care of were under one-year. This placed us at the “tot lot,” an extra-mini playground at the Garfield entrance to Prospect Park for babies who enjoy pulling themselves up (otherwise known as “cruising”) and gazing at images of themselves in mirrors.
During my first few visits with either Ava or Jeremy, I tried to chat with the other moms who I was sitting in such close proximity to—literally hip to hip, balancing drooling tots on the metal bars. Most of the moms were naturally drawn to discussing their baby’s development, Oh he just loves to point! or She prefers Cheerios over Goldfish. And because there are very few Caucasian women in the child-care industry, it was usually assumed that I was a mom as well.
Inevitably a question would come up such as, How do you get her to sit still to cut her nails? and I would say Oh she’s not mine….. and immediately the mom would look me up and down, and the conversation would draw to a close. One might think my status as a narc in a high school locker room had just been discovered.
The next few visits I found that my status as non-mom had come into rapid acknowledgment. Pleasantries might be exchanged but in-depth conversations on the subject of teething were avoided. And then I discovered another social arena: the stay-at-home dad. The SAH dads were certainly fewer in number but much bigger in conversation. None of them took the time to notice the lack of a diamond on my hand or ask me if Ava’s shirt was Baby Gap or Gymboree. I struck up a nice friendship with one SAH dad who was a filmmaker and would roll in with his tot strapped to the back of his road bike.
We talked about post-war documentary for a few days, as I had one class on the subject during college. And then the following week, my SAH dad entered the tot-lot with baby and wife in tow. I happily introduced myself and the wife unhappily observed my acquaintance with her husband. I’m not sure what directions were given but right there my grown-up playground friendships ended, and I officially resigned myself to make friends with babies, not mommies or daddies.
When I first became immersed in the Park Slope baby scene, most of the kids I took care of were under one-year. This placed us at the “tot lot,” an extra-mini playground at the Garfield entrance to Prospect Park for babies who enjoy pulling themselves up (otherwise known as “cruising”) and gazing at images of themselves in mirrors.
During my first few visits with either Ava or Jeremy, I tried to chat with the other moms who I was sitting in such close proximity to—literally hip to hip, balancing drooling tots on the metal bars. Most of the moms were naturally drawn to discussing their baby’s development, Oh he just loves to point! or She prefers Cheerios over Goldfish. And because there are very few Caucasian women in the child-care industry, it was usually assumed that I was a mom as well.
Inevitably a question would come up such as, How do you get her to sit still to cut her nails? and I would say Oh she’s not mine….. and immediately the mom would look me up and down, and the conversation would draw to a close. One might think my status as a narc in a high school locker room had just been discovered.
The next few visits I found that my status as non-mom had come into rapid acknowledgment. Pleasantries might be exchanged but in-depth conversations on the subject of teething were avoided. And then I discovered another social arena: the stay-at-home dad. The SAH dads were certainly fewer in number but much bigger in conversation. None of them took the time to notice the lack of a diamond on my hand or ask me if Ava’s shirt was Baby Gap or Gymboree. I struck up a nice friendship with one SAH dad who was a filmmaker and would roll in with his tot strapped to the back of his road bike.
We talked about post-war documentary for a few days, as I had one class on the subject during college. And then the following week, my SAH dad entered the tot-lot with baby and wife in tow. I happily introduced myself and the wife unhappily observed my acquaintance with her husband. I’m not sure what directions were given but right there my grown-up playground friendships ended, and I officially resigned myself to make friends with babies, not mommies or daddies.
posted by Rebecca at 10:26 AM
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