The Library

Yesterday was the second time I have taken Lilah to the Children's Area of the Peter White Public Library in downtown Marquette. They have an enormous book selection, but we can't take any home without paying a membership fee since we live outside city limits. They also have an arts-and-crafts area (Lilah is a little too small to participate or care). The main appeal for me is the giant, softly-carpeted play area. There are puppets and a puppet-theater, a kitchen with pretend dishes, pots, and pans, a large train play-table, wooden blocks, puzzles, and Lilah's personal favorite - several colorful bead mazes. I like to sit her on the carpet and give her a maze to play with. She alternates between zooming the beads around their metal tracks, attempting to eat the beads and getting told no, and watching the other running, screaming, laughing children play. She never moves or crawls for more toys. She's so engrossed in watching the scene around her, since her usual playmates are her daddy and I and the occasional cousin every couple of months.

To be honest, I'm engrossed in watching as well. The first time we were there, a mother sat down near us with her little girl who was about 12 months old. It only took me about 60 seconds to figure out the mother was actually a man dressed in women's clothes. I'm not sure what's PC and what's not, but I'll say "she", because she really was the girl's mother, even if not biologically. She had an obviously and awkwardly padded bra that kept going crooked and needing adjusted, flowery embroidered jeans, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, women's blouse, and heavily made-up face. She had the build of a man - narrow hips, broad shoulders, angular face with a wide jawline - but what really gave the game up was the stubble from at least a day of not shaving. Dano was pretty taken aback, and I just talked back politely when she struck up a conversation. I actually felt kind of sorry for her. She was obviously trying so desperately to be a woman, and referred to the little girl's father in conversation. The little girl loved her and called her Mommy. Who was I to judge what made them a family? To each his - or her - own.

The second time, it was just me and Lilah. I'll be honest, I've put a little effort into my appearance lately. I really hope this doesn't offend anyone who read this, but I found myself slipping into the "mom" role very easily. Hair thrown back into a pony-tail, lounge-clothes I don't mind getting a little spit up or drool on, and if I'm going out somewhere, a little bit of concealer or eyeliner so I don't look dead. I know full-well that regardless of where we go, all eyes will be on the cute baby who charms all she meets. When people actually address me, they never break eye-contact with Lilah who (though she comes from two unassuming parents) has somehow learned that if she smiles winningly, tips her head "shyly" to one side, and bats her long lashes, people eat it up and fawn all over her. She coos and squeals to reward them, and they think she is "just a doll". All the while, I'm trying not to groan watching how she plays them and thinking, "This doesn't bode well for us." So upon realizing that I'm not that happy with looking like a "soccer mom" as Dano puts it (no offense to any soccer moms), I got my hair cut and styled, got put on some actual makeup, dressed in jeans and a sweater (I'm not a fashionista, by any means), pretty new earrings, and cute brown wedge heels (a poor choice on the slushy sidewalks). Feeling rarely self-confident, I sat down on the carpet next to Lilah and took in the scene around me.

There was a tired-looking woman pacing the bookcases on her cell phone, brushing her son away whenever he bothered her. There was a younger mother with an NMU laptop who answered her son's questions without her eyes ever leaving the screen. There was a grinning, unblinking brunette wearing an over-sized sweatshirt and (yes, really) Carhartt overalls. She was eerily cheerful and took it upon herself to make friends with every other mother. Most perched on the couches like eagles in their eyries, one eye on Oprah's latest book-club novel and one eye on their offspring, clearly poised to fly in at a moment's notice and intervene if necessary. Grinning Mom fluttered from Book Mom to Book Mom exchanging childhood developmental factoids ("So I suggested to him, 'Nathan, that little boy likes trains too. Maybe you should play with him,' and it was like a lightbulb going off! I'm pretty sure I read this is about the age they learn to share. Isn't that just fascinating?") or crock pot recipes ("And the chicken is really moist and tender. It's amazing for little teeth that can't eat big chunks, and even my pickiest one loves it.") or making connections ("Our girls look so adorable playing together! Write down your number and we'll have to get together for a snow day!"). Lilah and I sat in the middle of the carpet, both with one hand on the bead maze, both with two eyes on the room around us, and at least one of us feeling like a complete island. No one said hello, most of them made eye contact, and every one of the ones who did notice me made me feel (possibly completely irrationally) like they were sizing me up. I didn't fit in with the College Moms who were there to keep their kids busy and safe so they could get homework done. I certainly didn't fit in with the Book Moms, not because I didn't enjoy cooking or making new friends, or childhood development, but because it just felt so fake. I'm young and still working on my degree as a mother, but I'm not a single parent just trying to get through school. I'm a mother who loves to do crafts, bake, and keep a clean house, but I'm also a career-minded individual who loves her job. I absolutely love to read, but Oprah's stamp of approval reads "Never touch this book" to me (perhaps out of sheer stubborn will). Honestly, I've had most in common with Cross-Dressing Mom. I feel like I'm in between roles and not sure which one I'm most comfortable assuming. I don't know where I fit in, but somehow, despite all the wonderful toys and kids at Peter White Library, I don't think I'm a Playgroup Mom.