Mama-dates, part 1

I've joked with friends lately about "mom-dating," that is, the process of finding and getting to know mama-friends with whom I might like to have friendship and what's become known as "playdates." ("Playdates" are what I always called "going to play with" or "going to X's house" when I was a kid; today's mom needs a trendier term for it, apparently.) I've felt the need to begin mama-dating lately for a couple reasons: The first is that I've resolved to put down roots here in Chicago as much as possible despite the fact that there is always a sort of limbo in our lives as to where and when we may be next. (To this end, I also planted a garden this spring, a sign of my commitment.) Second, many of my friends have either moved away or have just been occupied with the general busyness of life. It's taken awhile, but I've finally admitted to myself that I am, in fact, kind of lonely. Attempting to be proactive, I've challenged myself to quit acting like I don't see other moms at the playground or our Music Together class and make some friends, already!

Perhaps you think that mama-dating should be easy? Well, friend, you think wrong. Consider: There are four separate parties involved in any form of mama-dating: oneself; one's children; prospective mama-friend; and prospective mama-friend's child(ren). All four parties must agree that play-dating is a good idea for a successful relationship. Add into this the limitations of coordinating these four parties' schedules (classes, naps and mealtimes) and tastes in activities (inside or outside; free-play or structure; rowdy or more sedate), and some relationships are doomed before they've even begun.

And once you add actual humans into the equation? The difficulties are heightened exponentially. Just look at me: I've always been shy (or have, at least thought of myself as shy, which is virtually the same thing), and this shyness sometimes proves insurmountable when attempting to initiate conversation with a stranger. What's more, the thought of making myself vulnerable can lead to paralysis by over-the-top self-doubt: Does she already have enough friends and doesn't need the mopey mom at the playground hanging around? Does she think I'm funny, "funny"? Will she think that I'm some weirdo stranger if I ask for her number? Will she think that the only explanation for three kids at my young age is that I'm a crazed religious zealot? Do I smell funny, or is my hair just too weird today? Maybe I should've worn makeup! Ack! Lacking the ability to read minds, and imagining the worst, I've missed at least a couple opportunities.

For however many opportunities I've missed, though, the past several weeks have led to a few actual connections, which I consider fairly remarkable. Except, of course, the drama is not over, and now I must figure out what kind of relationship I want with my current suitors. More on that to come.