I am a lucky gal. After 13 months of Mommyhood (Seriously? Is that it?), I can honestly say I’ve found my Wolfpack here in Jacksonville. (Thank you, Junior League of Jacksonville, JMB Neighborhood Groups– even the local forum on the What To Expect When You’re Expecting app) Not only will you hit up story time at the Murray Hill Library with Mac and me, but you’re also happy to stroller mob it down the block to Moonriver for pizza and (gasp) a beer afterward. At 11am. On a Thursday.
And last month, when the baby was sick with those non-stop fevers? Thank you for your offers of lunches and dinners, your daily texts and Facebook messages checking on him, and for calling every Doctor, Nurse, and Daycare worker you know for their professional opinions. And then, when Mac was finally better? I love that you got your husbands and sitters and sisters to watch our babies so we could go see Magic Mike XXL. (Also at 11am, because we’re classy like that.)
I appreciate your understanding, your humor, your desire- like my own- to be everything for your Little Ones while still keeping a piece of yourself intact. I appreciate your willingness to try new things, to expose us to your favorite things, and to reminisce about things long gone over glasses of wine while our babies sleep. Mostly, though, I appreciate the fact that every single one of you, regardless of the age of your child or how many parenting books you’ve read, keeps your “Mompions” to your damn self. I’m not saying that you’re not forthcoming when I ask you for advice on Mac’s sleeping (Cough. Lack of sleeping. Cough), or the six teeth he has coming in at once (Ugh. True story), or where we should go for swim lessons.
I’m just saying that even when you notice Mac is 13 months old and still eating pouches- yes, even with his 2 million teeth- you manage not to mention how ridiculous you think it is since your 11-month-old has been holding their own fork for two weeks.
That, back when we first met, when I was still quietly shaking up his bottles of formula, lamenting the fact that breastfeeding had come to an abrupt and early end for us, you didn’t feel the need to remind me that Breast Is Best, as even strangers in Target had done.
Thank you for not loudly explaining why the toys I choose to let my baby play with are or aren’t “right,” and for instead always insisting he share yours. I appreciate that, every time I’ve accidentally let it slip that Mac was watching Sesame Street or was “in his baby jail,” you let it slide on by without a peep about the dangers of screen time before age 2 or your Pediatrician’s thoughts on play yards.
When we meet at the zoo, and I have my baby sweating buckets in his Britax stroller, you’d never dream of advising me that he’d feel more loved in my Beco- and when I have him strapped to my chest in the Beco, you’ve never once told me “That’s why he’s not walking yet.” (Or even casually mentioned how “your baby really prefers a Tula/ Lillebaby”)
Thank you for not caring whether my rambunctious little man is eating organic (usually) or drive through Zaxby’s (sometimes), or whether his diapers are Seventh Generation (like we prefer) or Huggies (like you do). I know you’ll lend me one of whichever you’ve got, accompanied by zero flack.
Thank you, my Mom Friends, for saving me from the perpetual high school that playgroups can be; for keeping the #humblebrags of the Sanctimommies and Frenemommies at bay. Even though I had a scheduled C-section and you were in drug-free labor for 27 hours.