Even if she was, she would probably just say things like: These new baby wipes taste reallllll good! Would you like to watch me stuff one in my mouth?
A mom I know told me that her baby is her best friend. I thought, That sucks. My baby is not my friend. She's my kid. She's delightful, but she's my responsibility. And because I spend all day with her -- this poor conversationalist -- I need my friends more than ever.
I had coffee with my friend Joy yesterday. She's a new mom too, and while we drank our lattes we sat on the floor of the coffee shop and consoled the babies and entertained the babies and chased the babies. As we were leaving, she said, I always find myself longing for more time to chat, sans babies. That's the plight: We've spent our adulthood longing for babies, and we spend their babyhood longing for a moment to ourselves. Or a moment with our friends.
Getting out of the house is ridiculously important. Joy and I were talking about that too. And I told her that I feel silly even saying it. Like I'm some housewife who has gotten bored of making pies and diapering the children and I need some fresh air. There's not fresh air to be had in January though. It hit me like a ton of bricks this week: Tessa is old enough to put her in one of those swings at the park. One of those swings with the holes cut out for the legs! How friggin' fun would that be! But if I took her to the park and put her in one of those things today, it would be considered child abuse. It's 30 degrees out. So I'm looking into legal, inexpensive ways to entertain Tessa and me during the day.
For now, there are quick, distracted meet-ups in coffee shops and for those I am grateful. But mostly I am grateful that even though she is a terrible conversationalist, I have Tessa to talk to. She also happens to be my very favorite person to talk to (besides Nekos).