Matt and Tamar
hosted a stoopside Memorial Day BBQ today. And we were the token marrieds with a child there. Nothing makes me feel older than being the one and only old married mama at a party. Everyone is standing in small clusters, clutching beers and talking about, I donít know, a band they just saw or something. Meanwhile, Iím chasing a small person up and down the front steps desperately wanting to inhale a summer ale, asap.
I have to admit, though, my biggest obstacle at these types of social events is myself. I feel self-conscious. I havenít quite mastered how to wear my good-mama (er, adequate-mama) hat and my fun-to-chat-with hat simultaneously while talking to childfree strangers.
I got better throughout the party, though. Theo stopped the stair obsession for a bit. Guests started to be genuinely amused and charmed by the little man. Beers were had. Nate and I took turns being on-duty parent and off-duty party goer. And the best part: Tamar gave Theo a farting machine. Awesome.