My neighborhood has a great Mom's group. It's organized through the school, sort of, and groups moms together who have kiddos starting kindergarten the same year.
The moms who started this group had stamina and initiative! They duly appointed a membership chair, an activity chair, and a class chair for each year. When I saw all these chairs, I assumed this group of ladies met with gavels and wigs. They just seemed so organized!
And then it came time to start scheduling playdates and sending emails. Well, in addition to stamina and initiative, most of these mom-preneurs also had more than one child. The disorganization drove me mad. And so, with the help of a fellow one-childer, I usurped the power from the 2017 class chair and took over the running of it.
Why do I do things like this? I HAVE NO IDEA. It's like that time in grad school when I swore I would never be our team's president and then BAM, I was the president. Or that time when I said I'd work part-time and then BAM, I'm working more than my full-time counterparts and getting paid less. These things find me like water finds a valley. It's inevitable and I love/hate myself for not ever learning to get out of the ditch.
Anway, back to my little Mom's group. Things were just fabulous for a year or so. I had a spreadsheet with potential playdates all backed up to The Cloud, an alphabetized list of moms and a neat and tidy email roster that made it simple to add new moms to the festivities.
Today, I got an email from a fellow mom asking where the evite for this week's Mom's Night Out was. "Did I miss it?" she asked.
Nope, she didn't miss it. I missed just how easy it is to do things like keep organized electronic files for inane things like playdates and mom drinks when you have one child who is not yet three. This was my mistake and I fully own up to dropping this responsibility like a bored baby in a high chair.
This is not what I want to write about, though. What I want to write about is The Class of 2019 Moms. You see, with the baby, I am also in the Class of 2019 group and organized electronically on their emails and evites. Their calendar is packed. They are killing it. Their emails usually include a link to a seasonally appropriate pinterest craft you and your baby will be doing together at said playdate. I've never been to a 2019 playdate (like I'm spending time on those when the kid can't talk yet), but I've heard the Halloween one was a bountiful fall harvest complete with bales of hay and mounds of pumpkins.
I don't wish these poor, poor girls ill-will. No, what I wish them is reality. Right now, they must all be six weeks pregnant or in heated discussion with their spouses about having a second. Assuming this is the case, and let's just assume it is, I want to be their Ghost of Christmas Future. I want to drop my three-year-old off on a day like today when he's got particularly bad cases of "NOOO!" and "I WILL NOT do [whatever I just said], and "Where's DA-DDDDDYYY?!!!" Then, I want to send them an email about pinterest crafts and organic baby food, just like the 2015 moms wanted to send me when I got all Excel organized on them.
Alas, the 2015 moms never did this and neither shall I. They watched from afar at our overzealous little group and just waited for our stomachs to start popping again and only then did the smirks also start showing. "Bless your hearts!" I am sure they all thought, that sentiment laced with razors and meaning the exact opposite of it's literal definition here in The South.
Don't worry 2019 Moms, I am hear to pass the torch along for those pain-in-the-ass 2021 Moms. Those poor girls. They haven't even been through labor yet! I mean, really.