This morning Abby and I were invited to a new mommy group. We were familiar with some of the moms and their children so introductions went well.
An hour later I was ready to go home. And not just because I had on real clothing. You know why I was all set to part ways?
Because I was the grandma.
And I was 100% okay with that. It's not that new babies don't interest me, I will hold one any time anywhere. It's just that new mom talk is for lack of a better term, history for me.
These moms were lovely young women. Some stayed at home and others worked outside the home. Some brought their children to an in-law for childcare, others sought help from an au pair or a coop preschool. Lifestyles were varied and conversation flowed easily. It's just that the conversation centered around teething, Ferberizing, sleep cycles, weight gain, percentiles, and baby carrots.
I literally played with the Yorkie almost the entire time.
Again, the ladies were great and their children (some even Abby's age) wonderful. I was simply out of place amongst a group of people who were still beginning their families. I've graduated that phase of my life and really don't wish to go back in time. It was okay while it lasted but having kids older, conversational, and able to exist away from my constant watchful eye is heavenly. I don't wish to go back to the way it was.
Give me a room filled with people chatting about arthritis, menopause, Pinot Noir, and presidential nominees and I'm all ears.
Until then, I'll be here ice skating with kids who have access to mobility and bad words should they so desire to use either one.
I am a grandma and honestly could not be more pleased.