This afternoon in my neighborhood coffee shop, a mommy & baby group held their first “monthly” meeting. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the event provided further evidence that the world is (not) kind — it was made up of the women from my pregnancy yoga class, some still pregnant. This town is just too small.
My first urge was to hide in the bathroom until they left. My second urge was to leave. My next urge was to go talk to them. They went into a different room, and I don’t think anyone noticed me because of the way the place is arranged. I got up like three times to talk to them, because I thought, you know, maybe it’ll be therapeutic to just go smile at them and face the babies.
But when I tried to think of what to say, I just started shaking. Because I knew they wouldn’t know what to say, and I was afraid they’d treat me like a crazy woman. I fully realize I’m not, and that it would be cruel of them to think so. I just imagined, if I’d gone over, that they’d have all sighed in relief when I’d left or worse, pitied me. I even imagined some of the snootier ones (because in this town, lots of people are just that) hugging their babies even tighter, fancying I wanted to steal one. At the very least I was sure they’d think I’d ruined their fun outing.
I am not sad that they all looked well and happy with their babies. I am sad that I have to find a new place to work on Monday afternoons.