I have recently noticed a competition amongst certain mothers, something I thought was reserved for high school girls and professional baseball teams (welcome to Los Angeles, I guess). I have quickly to add that none of my close friends are included in this because the display of this edge immediately eliminates the competitor from my circle. I am talking about mothers who are endlessly blurting out how much their child sleeps, how early it started to walk, how it's reading and not even in kindergarten, how high it can count... and these boasts are always hidden as worried questions, "I don't know if this is normal ha ha but little Precious is already spelling four syllable words. Should I take her to the doctor?" My ass. Normally little Precious is a chubby blob with a boob in her mouth on demand (at 4).
A few months ago I had no idea that this was a competition - and apart from the inevitable, "I'm so glad Pookybear doesn't look like THAT", I had nothing to say on the very private matter of how ugly most little kids truly are... but I realize now I was sadly deluded. In fact, I've noticed some Moms being competitive about everything from the birth to the length of their child's fingers.
Having had what is accepted by everyone except me as an easy birth, it would be terribly bad form for me to go on about it and those of my friends who've had genuinely awful births speak about them very little - however there are those out there for whom every contraction was THE WORST EVER and every stitch was AT LEAST TEN and every pound of baby was doubled because I'm SO PETITE. It's inevitably those same women who go on to talk about how their five-year-old Precious is speaking full sentences and going off to college and, "Oh dear is Pookybear really not able to count to 100? Super Baby is doing division and cooking his own meals and he's half Pookybear's age.
It seems to me that those Moms are the same ones that run to the doctor's office for a hang nail which always makes me think they're over reactive nutjobs. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying, 'If Precious is so perfect, why are you always running to the pediatrician?' Because... well...perhaps secretly I am worried that they are right and there is something I am not doing with Pookybear not being able to tell an upper case A from a lower case p or not sleeping enough at night or being overly strong-willed.
It's really strenuous, this competition and even though I genuinely do not care if Pookybear can do a cartwheel before any of his peers, I do find myself being glad he doesn't have a pig nose, or a huge birthmark - or looking at other kids and their tennis shoes and feeling superior about Pookybear's high tops. In fact, I can't see the point in being competitive about anything. I mean, Pookybear is doing fine. He was rolling over from the day he was born. He causes people to comment on how cute he is wherever we go, he has an amazing personality, we had a wonderful birth, he stopped cold turkey on a bottle at 12 months and he can put together puzzles for ages older than his. To be honest in fact I think he has his sights on running for president... even at his age he already knows more than our current one does.
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