Tuesday nights my daughter takes swimming at the local YMCA. She loves it, for a child who but a mere year ago screamed when put into a pool like we were pouring hot acid on her, to now, full-out jumping in. To Clarify, she still doesn’t get her head wet, but little steps.
She takes this class with two other little girls who she has ‘known’ since birth. Us mama’s had been put together in a new mummy’s group where we became friendly, not quite friends.
I know for me, I have dug my heels in when it comes to actual friendships with either of these women. They are both lovely, intelligent, and caring mothers. Their world revolves around their daughters, and I applaud their dedication and persistence in raising the girls. All of that being said, I AM SICK of the Parenting Olympics.
You know what I mean don’t you? The conversations about what their little darling has done this week, and the next mummy chiming in hoping to outdo the first story. Mummy 1 was discussing a recent trip where they did a ton of swimming, and how amazing it was for her daughter and how now her little one just adores the water, and now they are thinking of getting a pool. The second mummy, not to be outdone, takes a different approach, how much her little one hated the water, and what a struggle it was to get her to go to lessons, and how the teacher just needs to teach differently to keep her daughters attention…Then there’s me.
YAY! She jumped into the pool.
I don’t like to get caught up in the constant comparisons between our daughters. I will admit, I am not perfect and have fallen into the trap once or twice. I then realised they had me in their web of insanity and I quickly disengaged.
Yes, I said it. INSANITY! These are three-year old children, there are NO FUCKING COMPARISONS! They will do things when they are ready. They will all be potty trained by the time they go to school, they will all be able to speak in clear, coherent sentences, and yes, eventually they will all be able to pass Bobbers at swimming lessons.
I noticed all of this starting in the mummy’s group. The stories about conception, pregnancy, and birth. The easy peasy (ME), the perfect (She sneezed, got knocked up, no morning sickness, sneezed again and gave birth) and the most horrible, wretched, awful experience imaginable (IVF, morning sickness all day, everyday until she gave birth, after pushing for 8 hours finally getting a C-section, but swearing the spinal block didn’t work).
It all continued after the mummy’s group finished as we all met regularly – We were all starved for adult company! Whose child was sitting up first, crawling, walking, running, eating how much, weighing the least to the most, who tried cereal first, to who had their first tooth. Everything was/is a competition that I refuse to give into.
Now 3 years later, we continue to meet twice weekly at the Y, kids in tow, to compare their back float techniques on Tuesday, and their somersaults on Sundays.
Inside, secretly, I love listening to it. Mostly, because I know my kid is better than theirs, at everything. She will continue to be better in everything that she does, because she is my daughter, and in my eyes, she can do no wrong.
Well, not yet anyways, and like I would ever admit it to them if she did.