Today was a working day for me. I dropped Genny off at her babysitter’s and then headed to the city to teach yoga. After work, it was on to the Jackson Heights Parents Group where Genevieve gets to mix and mingle with the toddler-set and I get to speak with other adults.
Walking back home afterwards, we had a bit of a stroller posse going. The four mommies pushing their lazing babes along 34th Avenue. We formed a gang and slid along the silent streets. Margot suggested tagging our name “JHPG” along everything our stroller wheels touched. All we needed were some stencils and some bright primary spray paints. We could envision ourselves visiting other neighborhoods, leaving our childish splashes for all babies and mommies to see.
Watch out—here come the mommies. Make way for baby. Push, push, stroll, stroll. Get out of our way.
And then it hits me, like a flung Kix from Genny’s little fist—I am now one of those women. You know whom I mean. Those women who get in your way on the city streets by pushing their strollers slowly past every Baby Gap and Children’s Place store. Those women who can’t shuffle their strollers up the subway stairs fast enough for you to make your train. Those women whom you imagine have it so good—sipping Starbucks as they loll around the park with plenty of free time to run errands and have manicure and pedicures.
Actually, I’m speaking about my own mommy pet peeves. The few times I manage to drag myself to the city I find myself silently cursing the Big City moms pushing their $750 Bugaboo strollers. I can’t call them out on the Starbucks though because I must admit I do have a bit of an affectionate spot in my heart for a certain Mr. Frappucino. And I did splurge a week ago and have a manicure and pedicure, but I only do it a few times a year. And I even felt guilty the entire time instead of just relaxing and allowing myself to enjoy the experience. That wasn’t very yogic of me at all.