“Who cares?”
“Oh, so you want to be the mother with the kid who knows the bad words?” I asked.
“Bad word?” Erica asked, laughing.
“You know what I mean,” I said. “You want to be the mother who all the other mothers gossip about? Like about how bad your parenting skills are?”
Erica placed her hand on her hip. “Yeah, I do. Fuck ‘em. Fuck all those mothers. Fuck their playdates and mommy groups and fucking Melissa and Doug puzzles. Fuck their running strollers and baby couture and breastfeeding advice. Fuck their—”
“ERICA!”
“What?”
I looked down at the floor, but Annie was gone. She’d walked away somewhere, no doubt the kitchen since that seemed to be her favorite place to play.
“I’m not the worst mother in the world, Bailey,” Erica said, following my gaze into the kitchen. “You think I’d talk like that in front of my kid?”
I studied her for a moment. “So what? You’re making a point or something?”
Erica snorted. “I’m not making any point. No one’s making a point.” She sank down on the sofa and rubbed her face.
I approached her cautiously, gingerly picking up a handful of baby socks to help sort and match.
“Did something happen?” I asked softly.
“When?”
“Whenever,” I clarified.
Erica sighed. “I’ve gotta stop taking Annie to Carly’s playdates.”
I nodded. “Okay. Why?”
“Because I’m tired of those mothers making me feel like shit. Completely inadequate all the time. I know you don’t understand, but it’s really hard to be a mom. It’s really hard to be a mom in this culture.”
“Why?”
“Pressure. Pressure to have the right clothes and toys and fancy baby equipment and stuff off Etsy. I mean, have you been on that site lately? Some of that baby shit is over-the-top expensive. I can’t afford that. And then these moms make me feel guilty for not having it. ‘You’ve gotta have the best, Erica. You just gotta.’ To which I wish I could reply, ‘How about you shove it up your ass?’”
“Who cares about those moms?” I asked.
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t care. And usually I don’t. But today just got to me.” Erica leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Am I supposed to take my kids somewhere special every Saturday?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the whole, ‘Oh, what did you do this weekend? We took the kids to the aquarium at Ft. Fisher and let them pet the stingrays.’ Did you now? Did you really let them pet the stingrays? Well, I took my kids to McDonalds for the dollar menu.”
I suppressed the urge to laugh.
“Why is everything a big damn competition?” Erica griped.
I shrugged.
“It’s a cruel mothering world out there.”
I grinned. “It’s obnoxious if you ask me.”
Erica chuckled. “Oh, you don’t like people making you feel like a weirdo for not wanting kids?”
“Quite the contrary. I loooove it,” I said. “Especially when they stare at me all confused, unable to process what I’d just said, and then reply with something like, ‘Well, you’ve still got time.’”
“Ha ha!” Erica laughed.
“I don’t even understand how that’s a legitimate response to ‘I don’t want to have kids,’” I said, searching the basket for the blue and white striped mate to the sock in my hand.
“How about ‘You don’t want to live with regret?’” Erica offered.
“Oh, that’s a good one. The guilt trip. Mom loves to make me feel guilty, but hers is purely selfish. She doesn’t care about me regretting. She just wants grandkids,” I said.
Erica grunted. “How about this one: ‘Don’t you wanna feel what it’s like to really love someone?’”
I laughed hard. “Now that’s the best one.”
“Did you know that I don’t really love Noah? I didn’t truly understand love until I had his baby,” Erica explained.
“Ohhhh, I get it now.”
Erica took a nice long breath and let it out slowly. “Thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome. Nothing like folding socks on a Saturday afternoon. Where’s the other half of your family, by the way?”
“At the park,” Erica replied. “Playing ball.”
“That’s cute,” I said.
“It is, actually,” Erica replied. “I wish Noah would think to take pictures.”
We sat in silence for a time.
“I think children are cute,” I said. “They’re fun to play with. They say silly things. Sometimes they can be really insightful.”
Erica nodded.
“Why can’t that be enough for me? Why can’t I appreciate them from a distance without the world making me feel badly for not wanting to give birth to one?”
“Because the world wants you to be as miserable as it is,” Erica said.
“You’re not miserable,” I countered.
“I feel like I have no identity at the moment. My entire world revolves around my kids. Look at me, Bailey. I’m starting to look old. I swear I never thought I’d be one of those moms who forsook herself completely for her children.”
“Did you just say ‘forsook?’” I asked.
“Yes, why? Forsaked isn’t a word,” Erica replied.
I smiled. “I’ve just never heard ‘forsook’ in casual conversation. Ever.”
“Just because I had kids doesn’t mean I’m dumb,” Erica said.
I rolled my eyes, then had a thought. “Oh, so you don’t have what they call ‘Mommy Brain?’”
“What the hell is that?”
I widened my eyes in surprise. “I know something about baby world that you don’t?”
Erica clapped. “Yay for Bailey. Now just tell me what it is.”
“Something about how your brain goes to mush when you don’t get enough adult interaction.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, I have that.” She glanced at me like she was passing a secret. “Which is why . . .” She jumped up from the couch and stood over me. “Did you shower and exfoliate like I told you to?”
“Umm, yes. That was really bizarre, by the way.”
“No make-up on your face? No lotion on apart from your rough, dry areas?” Erica asked.
“No. And what is going on?”
Erica’s eyes went wide. “I’m starting a business.”