The Dating Game
Once I got married, I assumed my dating days were over. I figured I'd never again have the reduced self-esteem, the chronic self-doubt, or the fatigue that comes hand-in-hand with all those sleepless nights kicking myself for saying something stupid or being too eager or not being eager enough. I had found my partner, so The Dating Game was over.
When I was still working full-time, I was desperate enough to put an ad on craigslist for a neighborhood playgroup. I felt like I was writing a personals ad:
"MWF iso other FF or MM, M or S, with kids, preferably aged 1-3, but not exclusively so, for playgroups or outings or tea, but not coffee . . . unless you really want coffee. We can meet at the park or a trendy coffee place, if you know one (because I don't), and maybe eventually we can meet at my house -- or yours . . . yours is probably cleaner. Us: a mom with a full-time job, a dad with an at-home business, and a healthy, happy toddler. You: not a serial killer."
For some reason, I only got three responses, of which only one showed to our pre-arranged meeting.
Now that I am at home full-time, I stalk other mothers at the neighborhood park, and finally managed to gather three of them and their toddlers for an arranged playdate. And they actually came!
I found myself both excited and nervous as I dressed for our date. I wanted to look nice, but not like I was trying too hard. I needed to be casual, but slightly stylish. But I'm really not a stylish person, so would I be lying by trying to appear so? Would I be starting a relationship based on deception?
Twelve outfits (8 for me, 4 for Mr. C) later, we made it to the park 10 minutes late. The other mothers slowly trickled in with their kids, and I spent the next hour circling the playground like a hostess, introducing the mothers to each other, trying to keep the conversations going, and attempting to keep Mr. C from pulling our dates' hair. We all did the small-talk-thing, exchanging tips about good parks or sales, asking if anyone had been to certain restaurants, swapping stories about our spouses.
Boy, was I wrong.
Now that I am a full-time, at home mother, I have begun to try to ooze my way into A Playgroup. This has been something I've looked forward to since becoming pregnant: hanging out with other parents, gathering tips, bitching and crying together as our little hellions tear up each other's houses and terrorize domesticated animals.
But gathering a playgroup is hard. People aren't as sociable as they used to be: they tend to eye you with suspicion if you run up to them on the street and -- quivering and blubbering -- beg to be friends.
Now that I am a full-time, at home mother, I have begun to try to ooze my way into A Playgroup. This has been something I've looked forward to since becoming pregnant: hanging out with other parents, gathering tips, bitching and crying together as our little hellions tear up each other's houses and terrorize domesticated animals.
But gathering a playgroup is hard. People aren't as sociable as they used to be: they tend to eye you with suspicion if you run up to them on the street and -- quivering and blubbering -- beg to be friends.
When I was still working full-time, I was desperate enough to put an ad on craigslist for a neighborhood playgroup. I felt like I was writing a personals ad:
"MWF iso other FF or MM, M or S, with kids, preferably aged 1-3, but not exclusively so, for playgroups or outings or tea, but not coffee . . . unless you really want coffee. We can meet at the park or a trendy coffee place, if you know one (because I don't), and maybe eventually we can meet at my house -- or yours . . . yours is probably cleaner. Us: a mom with a full-time job, a dad with an at-home business, and a healthy, happy toddler. You: not a serial killer."
For some reason, I only got three responses, of which only one showed to our pre-arranged meeting.
Now that I am at home full-time, I stalk other mothers at the neighborhood park, and finally managed to gather three of them and their toddlers for an arranged playdate. And they actually came!
I found myself both excited and nervous as I dressed for our date. I wanted to look nice, but not like I was trying too hard. I needed to be casual, but slightly stylish. But I'm really not a stylish person, so would I be lying by trying to appear so? Would I be starting a relationship based on deception?
Twelve outfits (8 for me, 4 for Mr. C) later, we made it to the park 10 minutes late. The other mothers slowly trickled in with their kids, and I spent the next hour circling the playground like a hostess, introducing the mothers to each other, trying to keep the conversations going, and attempting to keep Mr. C from pulling our dates' hair. We all did the small-talk-thing, exchanging tips about good parks or sales, asking if anyone had been to certain restaurants, swapping stories about our spouses.
And it was fun! Everyone seemed fairly comfortable and happy to be there. They wanted to make it a weekly event. They thanked me for organizing it, which was lovely ego-massage . . . or was it just placation before the break-up?
After the date was over and I was back home, my 'high' over its apparent success slowly faded as I over-analyzed everything. Maybe I had erred by making our First Date a group one; perhaps one-on-one would have been more intimate and comfortable? Should the date have included something memorably spectacular -- like, oh, sky diving? Should I have brought flowers? Or cookies? (But what if they were dieting? Or had allergies? And, anyway, who am I kidding, since I tend to burn anything I bake?)
Had they felt forced to come? And did they like each other better than they liked me? And did they sense that I was eager and desperate?
Damn, I thought I'd grown out of these feelings of inadequacy!
I guess the real test will be in a few days, when our Second Date is tentatively planned. If everyone shows, maybe that'll prove I am accepted. Maybe we'll get to the point where I can be over-eager and desperate and not feel so bad about it, because they've agreed to stay with me anyway. Perhaps this will turn into a Long-Term Relationship, complete with inner jokes and ignored anniversaries.
I must be calm and cool, so they'll want to continue dating me.
Maybe I'll buy some cookies, just in case.
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