Creatrix: Blogging Mamalife, Creativity and the Human Experience

This Friday I went to a party where I think I was being ignored.

Not malevolently, not on purpose, but still…

It was a pretty typical Friday evening party scene – colleagues getting together, a group of twenty-to-thirtysomethings having relaxed, fun, semi-intellectual conversation over a nice assortment of liquors and cheeses.

I was greeted enthusiastically, but after sorting out my baby business (I had to sit down an nurse Stella before doing anything else – it’d been a long trip to get there) I realized that I hadn’t really met any of the people sitting around the table.

I think where I first went wrong was nursing the baby away from the group. I just sat down in the closest chair and fed her. I didn’t think until after we’d started that it could be interpreted as me being shy or embarrased or somehow intentionally separating myself. It was just convenient. But it kind of set the tone. My friend – one of the hosts – was the only other person there with a baby (technically her husband also could be counted as having a baby, but for these purposes I’m not really counting him because she did the vast majority of the holding, entertaining and general attending of the child, so he wasn’t really with the baby). So we sat, chatting happily together on the floor as we managed our babes, until I pointed out that we looked as though we’d been exiled from the party, which we laughed about, of course. Then my friend called out the ridiculousness of us sitting over in the mama ghetto, and made room for us to sit with the larger group.

I felt that once we were at the table, we were still somehow outside. So I looked for an inroad to one of the nearby conversations, but after a couple of minutes of scanning and looking for eye-contact, I realized that there weren’t any. So, I turned to my friend and chatted with her. But I felt wierd about the dynamic. I attribute part of this to being the only people whose conversation was constantly interrupted by unpredictable baby behavior: when you are able to find a way into the conversation, something gets grabbed, or thrown to the floor, or screaming starts, or hair is pulled. Parents have to develop a kind of conversational staccato that can be awkward for the uninitiated to navigate, and I don’t hold that against them.

But why are people without kids afraid to engage those of us who do? What is it that garners us nervous glances but little-to-no talking. I suppose some find it odd that I would bring a child to an adult party at all. My general response to that is: I refuse to be socially isolated for the fact of having become a parent. I still need adult interactions, intellectual conversations, eye-contact and the exchange of energy and ideas. Part of this means making some non-conventional decisions about where babies can and cannot, should and should not go. I remember when my best friend had her first baby, and I found that suddenly, we didn’t have much to talk about. In retrospect, I think it was because I was unaware at the time of how much having a child changes your life. My compass for what to talk about was suddenly different from hers. It was lack of information about the way her life had changed that created distance between us.

I think that non-parents need to be helped to develop more of a vocabulary for dealing with parents, children and families. We need to de-mystify family life, debunk the myths about what it means to be a parent. We need to let people know that our lives and work as parents do not negate, but rather enhance our being (ideally, anyway). Once, at a different party, I actually had someone ask me what I do, and when I replied that I take care of my daughter, her inquiry immediately ended and switched over to my husband, where she proceeded to ask about the details of his work as an office assistant. I think that my husband will agree with me that my job is more interesting and satisfying, but when I told this woman what I do, it was like flipping a switch off. People need to understand that parenting is a development in a life that is ongoing – our intellects, our creativity, our humor remain intact.

These are the reasons parents seek each other out. As I struggled to maintain some level of acknowlegment and participation, I realized how easy it would be for me to decide to only go to parent parties, or to just focus on talking to my friend. In the moment, it seems easier to segregate. The interactions did improve as the evening went on – mainly because I was able to pass the baby off to other people. It seems as though when I wasn’t holding my child, somehow I was easier to talk to. This is why playgroups, play dates, time at the park, what have you, are so important. It’s not for the kids, it’s for us. And I say that’s fine, and what’s more, it’s necessary. Because when we benefit, our children benefit too. When we’re not frustrated and desperate for adult conversation, our children benefit. When we’re not depressed from isolation, our children benefit. When we’re creatively and intellectually engaged and fulfilled, our children benefit, because we’re happier and we don’t resent them for the time and attention they require (which is more than we ever realized, and it’s indefinite).

So, parents – don’t let yourselves be ignored. Get yourself out to the parties, take the baby, find a sitter, figure something out. And when you get there, pull up to the table. Jump into the conversation. Don’t play the social martyr to your children: “I can’t do anything because of [insert child's name here]…” It’s not fair to them and it’s not fair to you. And if you’re not a parent, and have the opportunity to hang out with one, do us a favor: Don’t act like we’re invisible, or like our child is a kind of plague. Make conversation, ask questions, or at least smile and say hi. You might learn something you didn’t know about people with kids, and you just might meet some really cool people.

Atena