When I was in high school, I was a joiner. I was actually queen joiner. My list of extra-curricular activities actually didn't fit in the space allowed on my college applications. When college came, I took the opposite tack and became a non-joiner. Over time, I have continued on the non-joining path. Then, infertility firmly moved me from being a non-joiner into a downright group-hating-girl.
Motherhood and moving to a new duty station has brought that to a screeching halt. Well, to be fair, my attitude hasn't changed that much, however I have joined TWO moms groups in the last year to simply meet some people. Necessity for sanity.
The first group I joined helped me get out of the house and dive into some Alaskan activities with my kiddo. Thumbs up.
The second group is a huge local MOPS group, that despite the religious affiliation, is not overly pushy on that aspect. Instead I get to talk with other moms twice a month while my son safely plays downstairs. We have an assigned table within the bigger group which makes it more personal. Thumbs up.
Despite the general niceties of both groups, a few things drive me nuts:
a) groups of women often have catty or high schoolish tendencies. Boo.
b) groups of mothers can complain about their kids and ramble on about procreation on a frequent basis. Double-boo
I don't know if it is my infertile scars or group-hating tendencies that makes me back away from fully connecting with these ladies, but I find myself very guarded with them. During the last meeting, a mom-with-no-filter kept going on and on about how easily she gets knocked up. And oh by the way, she doesn't want to get pregnant with her fifth kid now because her husband is deploying. My pissed off angry self thought, "shut up you stupid bitch." I know, that's totally mean. Of course I didn't say anything. Instead, I murmured my goodbyes, turned around, and left quietly crying. I was just so raw from my appointment with the doctor the day before. Yet even from this crappy moment, today something changed within our little group. One of the girls just came over and hugged me with her other friend who told me that last year at the ripe-old-age of 29 she had to have a hysterectomy. Maybe I'm not the only slightly broken down girl there.
Bonding over crappy stuff like this isn't exactly what one hopes for, but hey, it's something.