Thursday, October 02, 2008


It has happened. I can now wear my pre-pregnancy fat jeans! They're a size 10, and yesterday I also managed to zip up and button a pair of size 8 shorts. So how did I celebrate? By going out for coffee with the girls and ordering a frozen mochaccino and a sausage, egg, and cheese croissant. I will never learn...

But I was in a celebratory mood and could not dissaude myself from the carbohydrate carnage. After living in Greenville for three years, I finally (FINALLY!) have a group of female friends that I can meet for coffee. All four of us have 2 year old boys in the same preschool class, and 3 of us have infants (7 weeks, 4 and 5 months, respectively). I really like these girls. (I probably should call them women, but that would make me a "woman," too, and I can't possibly be that old.) In any case, they're all well-educated, interesting, funny, down-to-earth, accessible. The sort of friends that every woman needs and craves.

I will admit it here for all the world to see. I have two things working against me. 1) I am inherently insecure. It's probably a throwback from middle school, but I have serious doubts that anyone really wants me hanging around. Therefore, I tend to keep to myself around other people, mostly to keep from inflicting them with my presence should it annoy them. 2) I like my own company and I enjoy puttering around the house. I'm always up for a day out, but I'm always afraid to do the inviting for fear people just wish I would go away. Since I enjoy my own company, staying home is always a sure bet.

In truth, I don't think I'm so bad to hang around with, but I err on the side of caution, just in case. I've been burned in the past. It's nothing short of a miracle that I've fallen in with this great group of girls.

I'm probably not alone here, but I think loneliness is something not easily admitted to among mothers. We have our husbands and our children, so what could we possibly have to complain about? I'll tell you what we have to complain about. For starter's it's the dirth of stimulating conversation. I was talking to my friend Beverly on the phone today, telling her about the Christmas present I just bought Sam (the Thomas and Friends Roundhouse) and when it came time to describe it, all articulation failed me and I actually said to another 31-year-old, "It's where the choo choos go night night." I keep waiting for someone to revoke my Masters in English over that one.

I live with three males, two of whom are inarticulate mini-neanderthals. Imagine my joy at the prospect of two hours of girl talk. And talk of shoes, bedspreads, and tutus. It was glorious. It's so easy to underestimate the need for commisseration, but it's so reassuring to know that my life is not so different from anyone else's.

1 comment:

  1. ah, yes, intelligent girltalk. still looking for some here after a couple and a half years.

    congrats on the pre-preg pants! i am forcing myself into mine at the moment, too. it's not a pretty sight. there are some shapes bellies were never meant to be.


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