Mommy Herding May Cause Stampedes

Apologies for the delay in posting. I have taken on new professional responsibilities, which make blogging nearly impossible. It has also been a busy June with lots of birthdays, parties and I-thought-were-parties (yes, I showed up at a friend's house on Friday with a chilled bottle of Proseco and some stinky cheese only to learn that the party is actually next week).

But I did make it to my sister's fete on Saturday where I was faced with the first of what will inevitably be many instances of "mommy herding."

Mommy herding is what non-pregnant, childless people do to expectant mothers. It involves steering all the bumps in the room into one central area where the bump-bearers are expected to spontaneously connect over all issues baby-related and otherwise.

The hostess intro goes like this, "Amber, meet Jane! She's pregnant, too." Hostess exits. Two pregnant women are left staring at each other.

It is assumed that pregnancy is a universalizing force which can bond the most disparate of individuals. In fact, bringing two pregnant women together is the social equivalent of air-dropping a thousand mines into an open field.

See, when Jane tells me she's seeing an OB/GYN, she makes note of the hospital, relating a sense of pride in where she is delivering. I respond that I am using a midwife and immediately Jane wonders if I am judging her for using a doctor and I am wondering if she assumes I am a masochistic Wiccan.

When I ask Jane how the pregnancy has been for her, if she says it has been good, she sounds like a show-off. If she complains she sounds ungrateful. I admit to back acne and get a scrunched nose, but Jane admits to gaining 10 pounds more than me and a smug grin inadvertently pries my lips apart.

With the exception of steroid-pumped professional athletes, there is no one in the world with a more volatile competitive spirit than an expectant mother. Even the moms-to-be that, at eight months pregnant, brag about not having read a single book are still competing to win the unspoken title of "World's Potentially Greatest Mother." They're simply opting for the falsely humble "who-me?" approach to winning the title in which not only do they get to claim the prize, but they also get to claim that they weren't even really trying.

The hopes that us moms-in-waiting bestow upon our still-developing babies are huge but they hardly measure to the expectations we place upon ourselves.

Take our mounting insecurities, hormonal surges, and physical discomfort, and then double it by throwing us in the ring with another crazy, swollen lady and it is no surprise that us sober ladies at the party will opt for the company of our drunk baby-free friends.

At least we can feel reassured that we won't feel as bad as them in the morning.