The Girlfriend

To date, life in Jolly Ole has been a pleasant change from the ordinary. It has been an entire shift in life experience for me and I have been dealing with my 'role' and how to define how I fit into a family. The label of step-mom has been perched on my shoulder, cackling, pecking for attention. The thing is, I'm not a step-mom, I'm an entire level below step-mom, I am the lowly Girlfriend. I know, it's completely ridiculous and self-absorbed to worry so much about it but it's difficult to come into and already-established family unit let alone dealing with the intricacies of just two people shacking up. Sometimes I feel like the third wheel. Certain outings tend to bring up more emotional issues than others and the outing taking the cake, so to speak, right now is the Kiddy Birthday Party. This weekend we went to a party for twin boys at the Heron's Leisure Centre in Haslemere. To begin with, being surrounded by twenty-plus children under the age of five is enough to make anyone at least nervous, if not mildly insane. Added to this assault of the senses is the fact that Julian and I are at least ten years younger than the majority of other parents. I have no problem socializing with people older than myself, in fact, I normally prefer it. I do, however, have a bit of trouble finding common conversational topics between myself and a group of parents. I am not a parent; nor am I, as we established earlier, a step-parent. I am The Girlfriend. The people at this party were, of course, beyond lovely and friendly and I, of course, feel like a complete dick saying anything negative about them, but I couldn't help feeling like everyone was judging me. All eyes bored into me from all angles and suddenly I'm the new girl in school again. I can hear whispers in my head, I can see the sideways-up-and-down glances picking me to pieces, measuring me against the Mum. How is it possible to feel so small again? So it was with this awkward self-consciousness that I tried to make normal conversation and act responsible and look respectable while wanting, the whole time, to chuck my heels across the room and get balls-deep in that bouncy castle. One very nice woman approached us and asked me, "So, how is your son enjoying the Royal School?" Let's look at some of the responses and their respective rejections which ran through my head in the agonizing seconds of silence before Jules saved me.

"Oh, he's not my son." Top of the awkward list. Guaranteed to evoke pity and embarrassment in the asking party and will likely end in a termination of an almost-lovely conversation.

"Oh, I'm just Julian's girlfriend." See that 'just' in there? Excuse me while I wallow in the self-pity corner sewing this large G onto my jacket so I can easily be identified as the 'Girlfriend' and subsequently avoided.

"Oh, it's great! He loves it!" I frequently, desperately, terribly wanted to lie. It's so much easier. But then I thought.... Somewhere down the line I will be found out and I will probably be forever excluded from the elite Parents' Club and become a social outcast and be the source of all heinous gossip at every child's birthday UNTIL THE END OF TIME.

So instead I said nothing. I looked away and then, through fitful glances, deferred the question to Julian, making me feel like one of those subservient wives that doesn't speak until her husband ok's it. Ugh. You can't fucking win. Upon further investigation, I found out this lovely woman was American. She had lost most of her accent and had fully settled into England with a husband and two kids.

"I met my husband in America and three months later he moved back to England. He wanted me to come over and get married but I wanted to do it my own way, so I got a visa myself and worked towards my dual citizenship when I came over."

Oh thank Jesus, I felt normal! Another foreigner! Even better, a foreigner who was as fiercely protective of her independence as I was! I started to breathe a little easier, began to loosen up and warm to the idea of a conversation I could relate to.

"Oh, sorry, please excuse me, I have to grab a place in line for the loo." Connection terminated. Back to jealously eyeing how much fun the kids in the soft-play were having. I would have felt a hell of a lot more comfortable somersaulting through a rope maze and being spat on in the ball pit. This ugly self-pity started to cling a little closer to my bones once snack time began. I sat at the back of the room on a row of chairs and watched all the parents dole out finger food, clean up spills, wipe mouths, encourage the eating of vegetables, socialize with other parents about their child's hatred of said vegetables..... I sat at the back like some weirdo in the bleachers of a kids' softball game. I, who have been the favourite babysitter of about a million kids, felt like the awkward perv that doesn't interact with anyone, just stares. What was I supposed to do? I didn't feel like one of the group, so I was reluctant to jump in on the snack-time orgy and start talking to other people's kids. Would that be weird? I remember at the last birthday party when another group of sugar-and-preservative-drugged children were stampeding around the middle of a dance floor and a very young boy got knocked over and started crying. Ever single cell in my body lit up and began firing. I desperately wanted, needed, with all my undeveloped mothering instinct to pick that baby up and comfort him. And I couldn't. I didn't. I looked about feverishly for the parents, pleading with my eyes, all but standing up and windmilling my arms screaming, "Someone pick up this baby!!!" I just thought it would be weird if I did. I thought the parents would think I was out of line. I though maybe the child would scream even harder and then I'd really feel like a shit. It was only later on that I realized how utterly stupid I had been. I saw how sensitive I had become because the whole experience of feeling like the odd one out, the outcast, had brought me right back to grade school. It was like a time machine had wrenched me from my semi-self-assured 26-yr-old body and poured me into the body of a shy, self-critical, weak little girl. I couldn't pick up that baby because I was too small. I shouldn't pick up that baby because someone more capable will come and do it. Silly isn't it?!?!?

Unfortunately, the shame and sensitivity kind of stuck with me. Another weekend, another birthday, another awkward round of explaining who I am, where/how I fit in. Because I've been knocked down a peg, suddenly even the little things are getting to me. The fact that I can't comfort Thomas when he's upset. The fact that Julian is the ultimate authority in that little man's eyes. I want to hug him and for that hug to be enough to make him feel ok. I want to show him that I can tie shoes, too! I can re-transform that transformer as well as Daddy can! Well, let's be honest, Transformers look like the inner workings of an aircraft to me and I have about the same odds of fixing either of them. Still, nothing re-affirms my place as The Girlfriend more than being brushed aside by a pre-schooler. How can someone so small make me feel so utterly sad? We dropped him off at his Mum's at the end of my big confidence-destroying weekend and to add insult to injury he wouldn't hug me goodbye.

Heart. Broken.

4-Yr-Old: 1 Hillary's Self-Esteem: Somewhere in the negatives.

Julian took me out for a lovely dinner afterwards for some desperately-needed couple time. I did feel a bit silly looking back on it after all. It's easy to take things personally and forget how even a smile from a kid can brighten up my whole world. It's hard to remember how blissfully unaware they are that your every emotion and hope and feeling are hopelessly tied to their every word. I know I'm just The Girlfriend right now, but goddamn it's hard even being that. As Ju and I sat in the tacky italian restaurant stuffing ourselves un-guiltily with creamy tortellini and smoked-salmon fettucinni we couldn't stop laughing. We laughed at the horrid salmon-hued decor, laughed at the questionable music, laughed at the other stuffy, sombre diners, laughed at each other. I thought for sure we would be asked to quiet down at any moment. After a weekend of being the responsible ones, it was wonderful to just be kids again.