Sometimes you have to marvel at the beautiful animal that is a momzilla: they are a never-ending source of surprises.  They are indefatigable in their overmothering.  I see a few momzillas I’ve known and.. er, known, and I can only think of a destrier in the heat of battle.  (sometimes all too literally)

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Momzilla one attacked at IKEA recently.  While a friend of mine and I were enjoying the luxury of an uninterrupted coffee, a woman with an overburdened stroller and a couple of overdressed children who looked afraid to breathe pulled up and sat unbearably close.  And by "unbearably close" I mean that we could see that she needed to get her roots touched up, and that we were sitting in a nearly empty dining room –this being a Monday early afternoon.

From her harpy-like perch, she could see her children –whom she was joylessly yet efficiently shepherding through lunch– and other people’s children. 

"I’m sure your mommy wouldn’t like you standing there," she chided Herr Meow.  He was standing facing me, on a ledge that was about six inches off the ground.  Did I mention he was facing me?

"Little guy, I’m sure your mom-mmmmmmy would not think that was safe."

I realize she’s not making eye contact.  She is waiting for me to pick up the cue.  I panic: is this ledge really so dangerous?  It must be.

"Come here, Herr Meow," I chide.  "That’s probably not such a good idea."  He frowns, detecting mommy fallacy;  this had been a good idea 30 seconds ago.  I can’t blame him and turn a blind eye to our belle of the ball.

I shouldn’t have bothered: not five minutes had passed before she’d glommed onto another set of kids with the same annoying line.  And I say, thank goodness for that.  The icy stares from another mother seated farther away directed at our momzilla were enough to gladden my heart.

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Momzilla two is pervasive– it’s the mom who thinks her toddler’s legs don’t work, or something of the sort.

Pay close attention: you may see this particular mom pushing around a child who looks old enough to shave.  She will most likely have some scary-sounding stroller and might even own some even more scary sounding diaper bag with a name like "the MotherShip" .

She will claim that she always needs to be prepared and the stroller just always makes things easier.  Always.

She will blame it on the weather or on the fact that her child just loves to run away.  "He’s such a little exploooorer and I can’t keep up!" she may coo.

But she’ll be damned if that kid is ever going to set foot on a dirty city street.  This momzilla has a vendetta against asphalt, and she is out for blood.

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Momzilla three: the guiltmaker.

This momzilla is a master at deflecting blame.  Her child –a person who is usually a complete stranger to her (this would be her guilty little secret, but shh!)– is never to blame for any of his outbursts or attacks or childish/childlike behavior.

Since she doesn’t want to raise a child who will be weak-willed and forced to bend the knee and say he’s sorry (apologies are for wimps!), she makes sure that her child gains self-esteem by having others to blame.  Anything will do: a weak-willed husband, whimpering and apologizing on the child’s wake will do, for instance.  Sometimes sugar or nerves can be excellent villains: "Please excuse little Hero for gouging Calliope’s eye last Thursday: she’s rather violent when she’s been fed a whole banana on account of the glycemic index of the particular fruit YOU FED HER being so high."

Anything will do– except admitting she or her child were ever wrong.  Being wrong= not momzilla-worthy.

Being wrong=not a momzilla option.

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Momzilla four: the "you’re doing it wrong" momzilla.

I know she’s made her appearance before; what’s more, this is classic momzilla behavior but it bears repeating because YOU WILL MEET AT LEAST ONE STRANGER LIKE THIS.

You know you’re in the presence of untainted momzi-genius when you

* are handed a kleenex without an entreaty or an explanation, and upon examining your child you espy a shy half-moon of a booger, barely poking out.
* have a complete stranger tug at your baby’s hat/socks/pantleg/waistband in an intrusive way, as if to say, "the baby would have DIED of pneumonia had I not been here to tug and pinch at three millimeters’ worth of skin."
* are given counsel on how the child should not be held/burped/handled/told that way
* you are told, as an adult, to mind your manners in some belittling way by someone old enough to be your mother.

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Momzilla five: the "I-can-do-it-all" variety.

Let’s face it: we’re all fallible, gullible, irascible and on occasion, impossible.

But not the ICDIA Momzilla!  She can do it all– better than you, even.  Unfortunately, you’re not making things easier, lump of flesh that you are.

She *would* be able to do things better if you, for instance, got out of her way and understood that she is a very busy person –even if her 3:00 pm conference call is a euphemism for "watching Oprah while reading Johanna Lindsey."

She realizes you apparently have a life too, but hers is fuller and better than yours and although she’d never tell that to your face she will drop what she believes to be inconspicuous hints as to the reasons why she rocks the socks of the world.   And her kid is the best, of course.

She is humble and may even walk with her lord –whoever He may be.  She may drop the ball horribly and she could leave her kid behind at the park, but someone will always pay (see Momzillas three and four for M. O.) because she can do it all.  It’s just people who get in her way, sometimes.

And aren’t we all just human, after all? *bats eyelashes*

(except for Momzillas, who are touched by a little bit of The God, of course)

(and The Crazy)

29 Dec This entry was published on December 29, 2007 at 10:46 pm and is filed under Days of Christmas, Momzillas. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.