As a new mom, something happens every day that leaves me thinking, “What in the actual fuck?” I know I can’t be alone in this. Right, guys? Bueller?
Most recently, it was a woman who works at my daughter’s daycare. She is always very nice and extremely sweet to my daughter, but she often oversteps by asking me if I’m having more kids, which it should be said is a ridiculous question, particularly for the mother of a six. month. old. (That’s right, I’ll pause for reaction here.) Insanity. Also, once you have heard the answer to your question, which was none of your business to begin with, you need not ask again. And again.
[adsanity id=”35664″ align=”aligncenter”/]We repeatedly have exchanges, leading me to believe that she either 1) thinks I still look pregnant and wants me to confirm it for her so she can let her mind rest, or 2) she’s the most socially awkward woman in the world and gives no fucks about social norms. After this latest interaction, I’m leaning toward the latter.
One day I was picking up my daughter and she was going about her usual routine of complimenting my daughter’s general happy demeanor (and it should be complimented because from what I understand she has been an extremely easy baby… as far as babies go) and then she launched into what I honestly consider one of the most uncomfortable conversations in my life.
She asked if I was having more children (ugh) and when I would have them (woof) and just when I was grateful the conversation was drawing to a close, she hits me with, “Can I ask you a personal question?”
[adsanity id=”35667″ align=”aligncenter”/]Hmm… Weren’t we already pretty deep into the realm of “personal,” what with the topic of conversation being my reproductive habits? Whatever she was about to say would be horrid, given the completely awkward and inappropriate questions she asks without hesitation on any other given day, so I braced for impact.
“Ummm, that depends… You can certainly ask?” (Why not? Let’s travel down this road of crazy because if nothing else, I’ll get a blog post out of it.)
“How much do you weigh?”
WHATTTT?!?!?! Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
[adsanity id=”35665″ align=”aligncenter”/]The other mothers and teachers that were present for the previous conversation were instantly silent in order to distance themselves from this train wreck. I swear, I even heard some of the babies gasp in horror as this adult WOMAN committed the cardinal sin of asking me, another adult WOMAN, my weight. I froze.
“I just think you have the perfect body,” she quickly began trying to recover and let some air back into the room, “and we love your clothes.” (Let the record show that to me, my body is extraordinary because it grew my amazing daughter and has fed her for the past six months; however, it is not by any means a “perfect body,” as if there even is such a thing. In fact, to the untrained non-parental eye, it’s probably average at best.)
Regardless, I saw what was going on there. She didn’t want to be on this ledge by herself and was trying to pull these other teachers down with her sinking ship. The other teachers came quickly to her rescue: “Yes, great clothes!”
“Well, thanks,” I muttered. “I won’t be answering that, but I will take the compliment. I’m still working on getting back into shape, so if you think these clothes are nice, you should see my real clothes.” I did the best I could to take the situation as a compliment, make it into a joke, and like T-Swift says, shake it off. I thought it was finally over.
It wasn’t.
[adsanity id=”35666″ align=”aligncenter”/]“Seriously, ” she started again, much to the shock of everyone in the room, “we always talk about your body.”
OK. This is where Claire usually takes her exit and my much less patient alter-ego steps in. Good night, sensibility, we’re about to take a hard left into STFU-ville.
“What?!?! Well, don’t!” Is all I could muster. “That’s super weird.” Not the most clever of things to say, and also not as reactive as I usually would be… But I still got my point across.
It was that moment that I realized there was a take-away from this whole thing: There are going to be people in my daughter’s life that I will be forced to be around for her sake. I can’t remove myself from the situation entirely without it affecting her. So, while I am generally uncomfortable with this one woman, I absolutely adore my daughter’s teacher and more importantly, so does my daughter.
So, put this down as the first of what is sure to be a long list of people I’m exposed to because of a connection to my daughter that I would rather not be around. But even more significantly, put this experience down as the first time I set an example for my daughter on how to handle people who are total fucking morons with grace, forgiveness, and a sense of humor.