I’ve been hemming and hawing, wondering if I should write about this particular Momzilla-ish woman.
Usually, momzilla-bashing for me ranks up there with eating ice cream and making fun of everyone in my Top Fun things to do.
But this Momzilla… well, she is of a different breed. I begin thusly:
It is my opinion– and one to which I arrive armed with what I consider to be a modicum of common sense– that if you tell a near stranger that you “are so happy you got to have some adult conversation because all you get at home is screaming all day,” you are quite likely to not make the best of impressions.
People’s reactions will range from ,”Heavens, someone help this poor soul,” to the far cattier, “Holy poop. Get me far away from her.”
Mine, as is my evil wont, leaned dangerously toward the latter.
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It’s hard to put into words what, exactly, constituted her Momzilla essence. Was it her endless talking without editing about things I cared very little to know? Couldn’t have been: thousands of people do that every day without earning the right to vie for the moniker.
To be honest, I can’t really write meanly about this lady. I have fodder: she was very loud, chatty, and more than mildly bossy; she was just the type to sit down and attempt to give a college-lecture style disquisition on how to best navigate the streets of the city, shop for kids’ items or arrange four adults, three infants and two strollers in a place the size of a dressing room (seriously, much harder than it sounds, but also much easier than it was made to be); she wouldn’t really quite let people get a word in edgewise; she even had that weird American slow-overpronouncing thing where you feel people are sounding out their vowels in the back of their tongue and therefore talking to you as if you were deaf or a moron (say “can’t,” “coupon” or “ham” with the back of your tongue as close as you can manage it to the roof of your mouth– see what I mean).
But somehow, as much as I can check off in my mind , I somehow end up feeling very much for her and her round, earnest face.
And she was sweet to my little boy, who gave her very earnest smiles.
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I had never realized before what people meant when they said things like, “but she was mean to my children, and that is an unforgivable offense” or similar Shining-Scimitar-Of-Justice-Coming-Down-On-Yo’-Ass kind of statements. Sure, kids are cute. Sure, they are little. But holding grudges on account of ill treatment of them; or conversely, pledging eternal loyalty due to good treatment of offspring? Incomprehensible.
Incomprehensible, that is, until my own womb bore fruit (insert pukey face here). Once you’re bound to a little human being in that fashion, the mama-bear complex comes out and often. And people you thought were cool lose luster because they snub your baby, while strangers you would never dream of talking to become wonderful people with rich inner lives and smiles, because they said “Hi baby!” or they said your child was nice or friendly. Or they just issued a courteous wave in your infant’s general direction.
So seeing this woman –this flawed, tired, contradictory woman, whom I would have never chosen as friends– being sweet and kind and understanding with my baby…. that changed everything.
May you encounter less scream-filled days, fellow mommy.
A Daily Dose of Zen Sarcasm! 