Poser

I'm just posing in this land of shortbread and meat pies. The thing is I don't even look like just any other mum out there. I wear t-shirts and either jeans or shorts (dammit when you live in a place that's too cold for shorts in June) every day, along with tennis shoes because I walk so much. I haven't seen another "mum" walk as much as I do, or care as little about her clothes. It must be some sort of joke to see me on the sidewalk with all my groceries that I don't even get delivered and my child who is dressed pretty well, compared to me, who is just in a constant state of disarray.

But I do have that damnable stroller. I'm now angry with myself for purchasing it. (See earlier post re being careful for what you wish ...) I feel like I'm conforming without a better plan. A brilliant but otherwise asshole-ish guy in my high school class once told me he envied me because I was able to conform. I honestly think he meant it as a compliment at the time, though I didn't take it as such and if anything, now I abhor the thought.

That's my problem: I don't want to conform here but I don't see that I have any other choice. It's not about me anymore. It's about my poor kid who is going to grow up thinking friendships are evil, and that making fun of everyone around you and being cynical are normal responses to disapproving of your environment. Dammit I feel like Jack Nicholson in that Helen Hunt movie (ah! revelation: As Good As It Gets) when he says to the dog, "Do not be like me!" This, I'm afraid, is the omnipresent fear throughout parenthood.