Sorry… I Don’t Feel Like Talking.

Dear Mom,

I see you. I know you’re there. I  know your baby and your other child are similar in ages to mine. I notice that you’re alone wiping snot and picking up puffs off the floor, too. I see you.

When my baby smiled at your little girl we made eye contact and shared that obligatory interaction. I’m sure we could be great friends and I imagine we could scrounge up a billion very little things in common. But I’m really sorry…

I don’t feel like talking right now.

It’s not because I’m a jerk. Or I think I’m better than you. Or I think your sweater is ugly.

Truth is, I’m a very nice person. And I think I’m probably exactly the same as you if not a smidge more exasperated and helpless. And your sweater? I didn’t even notice it. I was too busy admiring your baby girl’s really fuzzy jacket and I just wanted to pet her.

Like a cat.

I’d rather pet a cat than talk to a person right now.

It’s not you. It’s me. Closet introvert problems maybe.

The truth is, I’m tired. Hurrying two littles through Walmart and then across a parking lot to order food that I’m not even sure they will eat simply because I can’t take

One.

More.

Bite.

of peanut butter and jelly and crackers and cheese makes a momma tired. You know that.

I’m tired because I’ve started out a brand new year and feel ZERO motivation, which is why I ordered the large chicken nugget meal with fries and a Coke instead of the new superfood salad with water and a side of cardboard… oops. So I probably wouldn’t be much fun to talk to anyways.

Because… tired.

And… guilt.

The truth is, I have enough friends (3 or 4). I can hardly keep up with the ones I have, and that makes me feel like a bad friend already. I love my friends and I wish I could have playdates twice a week just so I can show them how much I love them (and desperately need them). But once or twice a month is usually all we can muster. If it’s all the same to you I’d like to find a way to focus on the few genuine relationships that I have instead of just adding more to the pile. Because it’s hard to be a good friend when you come with baggage (kids).

So it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. It’s just that I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t want you to think that because we broke the awkward mom ice that we are destined to meet at the park every Tuesday, or I’m gonna join your MOPs program. It’s just not gonna work out.

The truth is, I rarely get to eat out with my kids. It’s a treat for me. It’s a treat for them. And usually if we are out it’s with extended family, or on a playdate (see above) and I’m actually kind of there to ignore them.

But today I get to look them in the eyes and talk to them and enjoy their little personalities in public. I get to cheer on my girl as she climbs up the playground pole like a boss. I get to give my boy sips of Coke and wonder what people around me think. I’m having fun and I’m really enjoying being in my little bubble with my little family. So no… I don’t really feel like talking.

My painful lack of eye-contact and my unmistakable preoccupation with the straw wrapper and my boy’s fuzzy head might give that away.

It’s awkward. I know. I’m RIGHT here. Our tables are practically touching. Our kids are SO similar. We might really hit it off.

But not today. Not now. I hope you understand.

Enjoy your ice cream.

Can I pet your daughter?