Posted by: mindyourknitting | April 29, 2009

Not that kind of mother

I don’t knit (so if you came here thinking you’d find information on knitting, you must be bitterly disappointed right about now).  Actually let me qualify that – I can knit in a rudimentary sort of way, thanks to my maternal grandmother, and had every intention of knitting my little bundle a baby blanket for her arrival.  I started in January 2008 and now have a strip about the size of a scarf done.  So, I guess I’m not a knitter.


I don’t scrapbook.  Don’t ask me to.


I don’t talk to my baby in baby talk, and I don’t use sign language with her.  I think both are a bit silly and could delay her actually learning to talk properly.  I know there’s no evidence to support this.


I am somewhat uncomfortable in a gymboree/play circle setting.  When my daughter was three months old I found out that my local community centre had a “Mom & Baby Drop-in” I thought, excellent, we stick the babies together to play and the moms have coffee or (a girl can hope) a glass of wine, or some such thing.  I was excited about the idea of getting to know other new moms in the neighbourhood, since I had a million questions about my lovely colicky baby.  I was so, so naive.  You can imagine my shock when I was expected to sit in a circle with other moms, clap and sing, and recite nursery rhymes to my infant. I kept looking at these seemingly normal women and wondering if they had lost their freaking minds.  I know it’s for the babies and they love all that stuff, but I never went back.  Now I do coffee or lunch – not playdates, when the kids are old enough to interact they can schedule their own – with girlfriends who have babies and avoid the public sing-alongs with strangers whenever I can.


When I signed Abigail and I up for swimming lessons a couple of months ago, I never imagined it would be more of the same.  But now I’m stuck because my kid goes mental for swimming lessons, starts kicking her chubby little froggy legs the minute she realizes we’re at the pool.  So I sing the nursery rhymes and reflect on the fact that I have several years of grad school and am singing “The Eensy Weensy Spider” (Um, what happened to the “Itsy Bitsy Spider”?  Did he move on to a better spidery gig?  Did he get fired?  Did he die?)  This is one of the million sacrifices I’m willing to make for my kid, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like a fool doing it.  I guess I’m that kind of mother.  But when she grins her toothless grin in her chlorinated water-spattered face, it’s totally worth it.  







  1. I love that you, in your bathing suit, are nicely hidden in this photo. But it’s all about the kid, right?

    • It’s all about creative camera angles…

  2. The Itsy Bitsy Spider is really a cautionary tale about the plight of the poor working man (spider) and trying to get ahead and the corporate establishment (the rain) is always trying to beat him down. The sun represents the false hope that allows you to keep on truckin’ or in this case, climbing the ‘water spout’ (corporate ladder) even though you known damn well someone is going to piss on your parade anyway.

    In the long lost last verse, the spider gets tired of climbing the water spout, moves to a slum, gets entangled in the web of the wrong woman and ends up with 30,000 octo-mouths to feed.

    • Can you set that to music?

  3. […] caved and taken Abigail to a couple of playgroups at nearby community centres, despite what I said here.  It’s called desperation borne of having a child who needs to be entertained by more than […]

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