I feel bad for not being a young mom
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Today, I went flower girl dress shopping with Kelvin’s sis-in-law Susie and her super-cute daughters, with the important one being Naomi since she’s our flower girl. We checked out Little Angels (a cheaper frilly dress shop for little girls, and by cheaper, I mean $65 as opposed to $120… f*cking ripoff) at Oakridge. After trying on several dresses, Naomi was rewarded with time in the play area for “good” behavior. I watched over Naomi as Susie went to deal with Hana’s stinky needs.
The play area has a bunch of things for kids to climb on/through and jump off. The area is walled off by these cushy benches, where adults can take a breather from shopping and wrangling children. As I sat there watching her every move, a young woman spoke to me.
Lady: How old is she?
Me, slightly startled from staring into space: Who? Her? [points at Naomi and thinks a little bit] She’s going to be three in September. [goes back to staring into space]
End conversation.
This was an obvious/typical lead-in to a conversation about our children. Not wanting to be mistaken for a young mom or discuss baby stuff, I stopped the conversation ASAP, somewhat awkwardly. In hindsight, I feel bad for blatantly blowing her off, since she was just trying to be nice, probably bored and felt like talking to someone while watching her kid. I could/should have just asked about her kid (a cute little boy in overalls, ~1yo) and talked about how Naomi is definitely not my kid. I’m generally somewhat sociable (not always, I admit), but I think I was particularly deterred from discussion since I witnessed earlier at a bridal shop some mommy talk. Susie and the shop workers were talking about their kids and experiences and how kids are this and that blah blah blah. Barf. Anyway, sorry young mother sitting next to me at the Oakridge play area.
I guess I felt like confessing to the internet this totally mundane occurrence. You know what else was weird? When I grabbed Naomi’s shoes from the shoe cubbies at the play area, the cubby next to hers had the exact same shoes. Same brand, design, and size! (Susie: “They’re from Target, heh.”) Greatly confused both Naomi and me. Thankfully, their pair was brand new while Naomi’s was… yuck.
…give me a break, I don’t feel like writing an essay about cake right now.
Today, I went flower girl dress shopping with Kelvin’s sis-in-law Susie and her super-cute daughters, with the important one being Naomi since she’s our flower girl. We checked out Little Angels (a cheaper frilly dress shop for little girls, and by cheaper, I mean $65 as opposed to $120… f*cking ripoff) at Oakridge. After trying on several dresses, Naomi was rewarded with time in the play area for “good” behavior. I watched over Naomi as Susie went to deal with Hana’s stinky needs.
The play area has a bunch of things for kids to climb on/through and jump off. The area is walled off by these cushy benches, where adults can take a breather from shopping and wrangling children. As I sat there watching her every move, a young woman spoke to me.
Lady: How old is she?
Me, slightly startled from staring into space: Who? Her? [points at Naomi and thinks a little bit] She’s going to be three in September. [goes back to staring into space]
End conversation.
This was an obvious/typical lead-in to a conversation about our children. Not wanting to be mistaken for a young mom or discuss baby stuff, I stopped the conversation ASAP, somewhat awkwardly. In hindsight, I feel bad for blatantly blowing her off, since she was just trying to be nice, probably bored and felt like talking to someone while watching her kid. I could/should have just asked about her kid (a cute little boy in overalls, ~1yo) and talked about how Naomi is definitely not my kid. I’m generally somewhat sociable (not always, I admit), but I think I was particularly deterred from discussion since I witnessed earlier at a bridal shop some mommy talk. Susie and the shop workers were talking about their kids and experiences and how kids are this and that blah blah blah. Barf. Anyway, sorry young mother sitting next to me at the Oakridge play area.
I guess I felt like confessing to the internet this totally mundane occurrence. You know what else was weird? When I grabbed Naomi’s shoes from the shoe cubbies at the play area, the cubby next to hers had the exact same shoes. Same brand, design, and size! (Susie: “They’re from Target, heh.”) Greatly confused both Naomi and me. Thankfully, their pair was brand new while Naomi’s was… yuck.
…give me a break, I don’t feel like writing an essay about cake right now.
