An Apology Letter to my Mom Friends

Some people gratitude journal, I write apologies

Hello readers and friends!

I hope you had a lovely long weekend. I celebrated Canada Day on July 1st and Independence Day on July 4th, and by that I mean I carted my kid around to museums, hikes, and pools, and then pleaded with him to eat a hot dog.

After I pushed this dumb hot dog at him for 10 minutes, he yelled, “I just don’t like hot dogs mom!” And I wondered - is this the nitrate-tube-of-processed-meat hill I want to die on?

Probably not.

In the theme of July 4th and America, my guest on Parenting is a Joke is a brand new mom and an author, satirist, and columnist at the Washington Post - Alexandra Petri! Her most recent book is a stunning piece of satirical humor called Alexandra Petri's US History: Important American Documents (I Made Up).

We talk about her mother's extreme obsession with George Washington and why she doesn't think babies like elegant minimalism. You can listen to it here!

Because I've been running around trying to work at night (shows) and also organize things to do with my child that don't involve me just letting him watch his iPad, I'm refreshing and repurposing a piece that still rings true to me.

I talked about this on an earlier episode of Parenting is a Joke - and if you can tell me which episode, I'll send YOU a dollar!

I think about apologizing A LOT. Maybe it's the Canadian in me; maybe it's the poorly socialized female in me, or maybe it's just who I am. Who knows?! But I do know that when I did not have kids - I was very impatient and judgemental to my friends who were new parents - maybe even an asshole? But I didn't get it, because I JUST DIDN’T GET IT. But now I know. Oh wow, do I know!
So I owe you an apology - and here it is.

---

My Dear Mom Friends,

I am writing to say I'm sorry.

I am so sorry I grimaced when you talked about your kid, and I showed so little interest in them. I didn't bother to ask any follow-up questions, just waited for you to finish so we could switch topics to me. Now, if someone doesn't ask me about my son, I put them to be in the same category as people who are mean to servers, hate dogs, and tell me they are fiscal Republicans. I also realize that as much as I love my son, his existence has ruined my life, so I'm going to talk about him constantly as a form of self-soothing therapy. Constantly. So listen up, or zone out with a smile plastered on your face.

I'm sorry that I judged your unstylish bathing suits. As someone who now clicks on any swimsuit ad Instagram serves me that promises to flatten, ruche, twist, or otherwise wholly camouflage my body; I get it.

Also, when I see women in perfect shape holding a newborn, I feel even sadder for them. Can't you just lie down without doing a crunch? 

I'm sorry that I got frustrated that it seemed like such a production to make a plan of a simple beach hangout. I used to wonder, "Why is it such a big deal? Make your baby nap or let them play in the water alone. Isn't the ocean kinda like a babysitter? I had never wrestled a toddler to put sunscreen on them while they screamed, dealt with a diaper blowout on a beach, or been more afraid of crashing waves with a kid that still can't fucking swim.

I'm surprised you didn't slap me in the face with a wet burp cloth.

Now I understand that you could only function due to your carefully constructed routine. That you savor and protect those naps like they are the last drops of hot water in your shower, 200 bucks in the bank, or the last bottle of Pedialyte in the deli. Also, finding a decent and reliable babysitter is like finding someone in HR who still has a soul or a cute, comfortable, closed-toe sandal. When I was childless, I had no idea that a sitter, on top of their hourly rate, required a Seamless food order so large that it covered dinner and their following three meals, plus a fleet of UBER XLs. In other words, the outing has to be really worth it. Maybe when you couldn't find a good time, rather than judge you for not having your shit together, I should have wondered if I wasn't worth it.

Here's the one that embarrasses me the most: I'm sorry I didn't understand that you wanted to spend time with your kids. To be fair, most of the dialogue about parenting is about exhaustion, being fed up, overwhelmed, and desperate for a break. I didn't understand that that was just part of the gig. I love playing, reading, cuddling, and talking with my son. Of course, I want my own life too, which is a never-ending source of friction and push and pull with parenting. But instead of asking you to go out for drinks, I really should have offered to help you somehow. It takes a village, not a crowded bar in the East Village. Although sometimes that's good too.

I look forward to your 1st day of school posts with those dumb bulletin boards and your Shutterfly holiday cards. 

I would have written more, but I don't have the time or focus with a small kid. I genuinely think you are better than me because you were smart enough to have kids at a reasonable age. Not me. Went for the ol' geriatric pregnancy. I'll never lose the weight, and I'm so goddamn tired.

Yours in reverence and solidarity,
-Ophira

Don’t forget to check out this week’s podcast episode of Parenting is a Joke with Alexandra Petri, and past episodes with all the best Rachels:

Rachel Feinstein, Rachel Bloom, and the then-pregnancy-now-parent singer (Lake Street Dive) Rachael Price!