Warning - I'm wearing an extra tight pair of crankypants tonight. And we're out of wine! (So I'm having whiskey instead. Jameson's and pear cider. Odd.)
Surprisingly, the cranks have nothing to do with baby (he figured out how to clap yesterday! Today I got applauded for lunch. A mama could get used to this) and everything to do with my lack of competitive spirit. Scratch that - it has everything to do with my gigantic competitive spirit and the fact that I can't seem to find stuff to rub in people's faces. That's what it really boils down to, right? Sitting in these auditions, listening to people talk about their latest bookings with carefully modulated nonchalance (the passive-aggressive "mention your latest booking but then talk about how shitty it was" conversation? Ohhhhver it) and not having anything to add other than an occasional sympathetic nod ("Yes, the Four Seasons IS a terrible hotel") bites. Especially when you've spent the past 45 minutes parsing your two lines of copy, wondering if you should've worn khakis instead of jeans. I know it's all insecurity. Everyone's afraid, and afraid of seeming afraid. And it's not just actors - the uber-mommies have been on a tear. I hope I'm not stepping on toes but some of these big city mommies are the worst! Today I overheard two women one-upping each other on how many years they planned to breastfeed (one was planning on doing it until age 3, the other "whenever she (the daughter) asks to stop") and while I have no problem with breastfeeding (we all know what I went through trying to do it) I do have a problem with the palpable amounts of "I'm better than you" radiating between them. I see it all the time here. Sleep schedule mommies arguing with "they're only young once"ers, sling mommies giving the stink eye to stroller mommies... (Quick side note - I love babies in slings but there's one woman I'm friendly with who's been hauling her baby around for over a year now and the kid is a GIANT. He was 25 lbs at 3 months old. He's about 14 months now and is the size of a 4 year old. She can barely heft him to get him strapped on. It's so hard not to offer her a lift in my stroller.) The one-two punch of auditions/mommy weirdness has me feeling decidedly done. I'm not naive enough to advocate communal hand-holding - this is New York City, and I have elected to go into one of the most competitive careers around - but what do you do when you feel the creeping oog of "Well MY kid..." making its way up your gullet? (This also applies to resume rattling, boyfriend enhancing, or financial exaggeration.) In yoga class on Thursday we were supposed to introduce ourselves and say our child's name and the first thing out of Mommy #1's mouth? "This-is-Jonah-and-he's-already-walking-and-he's-only-8-months-old-and-he-has-two-teeth-and-he's-already-saying-mama-dada-ball!"
Did every mother in the class immediately troll their brains for their youngster's latests? You bet we did. So much for the benefits of yoga.
How do you all handle the scoodges? Or is this just a big city thing?