Driving to the playground, I was coming up with the best bribes. My brain was in rare form creating these doozies, but I still had doubts. Would they be enough incentive to help us push through this situation? Of course, these rewards weren’t for my 8-year-old but for me. I needed the payoffs to get me through this playdate, which would undoubtedly require the other mommy and me making huge small talk.
Since becoming a mom, I’ve experienced a lot of uncomfortable moments.
Like during my labor when my epidural went out three times. That was uncomfortable. Or that one time I had to pump my breast milk on a crowded airplane — slightly awkward. My motherhood journey has had its fair share of clunky instances, but making small talk with parents I don’t know, well … that wields its own level of nursing-bra torture.
This inability to chit-chat is a personality trait I’ve carried with me my whole life.
I think if I was good at making small talk, I’d enter my kid’s playdates with a better outlook instead of feeling like I was going to get a root canal. During conversations, my introverted brain freezes, and I watch the other parent’s eyes grow wide with confusion while I struggle to find safe and interesting subjects to discuss.
Sometimes I can use our kids and their interests as topics to lean on, but even then, Minecraft only takes me so far before I plunge into The Nether, never to return.
It’s during those horrible awkward pauses I wonder if being back in the labor and delivery room with my epidural going out would be less tortuous — at least I’d have something to talk about. For some people, small talk is no biggie. For me, it’s an act that leaves me sweaty with dread, but right now there’s no way out.
While the weather is supporting safer outdoor play, my son desperately needs some social time.
After a year of remote learning, not only are his social skills rusty but he needs to hang out with real living kids instead of fake electronic avatars. Watching him run and play with friends at parks and in backyards, I can’t help but smile as he easily finds all of his words. His playtime is giving him a much-needed boost of happy confidence, even though it can leave me exhausted and shaky.
Motherhood has a way of stretching my comfort levels.
Some days it asks me to do the uncomfortable and for the love of my kid — and I do it. So I won’t be hindering my little guy in his joyous playtime any time soon simply because small talking isn’t my thing. Maybe I can come up with more topics other than the weather and how concrete is made to try and chat about.
Even though making small talk has never been a favorite part of the motherhood gig for me, watching my kid learn to interact and have fun with his friends definitely is — no bribe necessary.
