Man.  This is another one of those blogs that has been floating around in my head for months now.  I’ve pictured it, and how it would sound in my head when I finally got it out.  Things like this never turn out exactly how I want them to, but getting it out of my head literally gets it off my mind.  And I stop worrying about it.  So here goes.

I have discovered something about myself that I’m not particularly proud of, and have worked to overcome it. I am The Pleaser.

It’s hard for me to describe what this means.  Really, I think it comes out of the desperation of always having to be the “new kid” every time we moved.  I went to 13 different schools before I graduated high school.  Think about that, really.  That’s more schools than there are years.  Multiple moves in one year, staying somewhere just long enough to feel comfortable before we’d leave, never getting established.  I’m not angry about it, I don’t think it’s ruined my life – quite the contrary, I find myself capable of adapting to new situations because of it.

But that want, need, desire to have friends and be liked has turned me into a person that will do whatever I have to do, whatever you want me to do… just so you’ll like me.  And I hate that about myself.

I want to be able to like what I like, and choose what I choose because I want to, not because I think it’s what you like.  I don’t want to impress you.  I don’t want to be ashamed of the music I listen to, or how I dress, or what I talk about simply because I care what you think.  I absolutely HATE agreeing with what you say when I actually don’t agree.  I don’t have to get something just because you thought it was cool.

Me?

I like country music.  I listen to top 40 radio.  I read fantasy and science fiction books.  I play video games.  I absolutely adore chick flicks.  I have no idea how to dress myself.  I have a shitty body image.  I require positive reinforcement and affirmation.  I’m good at sports, when I play them. I love to drive long distances.  I can’t dance.  I’m not cool, I can’t hold my liquor, and I have no idea what to do at a bar.  I don’t do my hair and makeup because I don’t like the time in to result out ratio.  I am entirely too competitive and jealous by nature.  I think I’m smart enough to be a doctor, but I chose to be a mom instead… I wont ever regret that decision.  I don’t think I’m a better mom than anyone else, but I don’t think anyone could raise Ronan like I can.  I’m proud of my family, and proud to be from Canada.  I miss having a Canadian accent.  I can’t justify spending money on clothes, so I rarely do.  I felt very good at my job as an obstetric sonographer, and I wish it were still a part of my life.  I love my husband more than words can describe.  I don’t regret the choices I’ve made in the past that have brought me here.  I wish I lived closer to my family.  I’m not that funny, but it makes me feel good when people laugh.  I write because it makes ME feel better, and I’m brutally honest when I do.  My house is never clean.  I have no idea, really, how to raise a child, and I’m just getting through it the best way I can.  I don’t like to try new foods.  I hate being teased, even though it’s ‘attention’.  I DON’T like to be tickled.  I used to love roller coasters, and now I’m terrified of them.  I talk too much.  I’m bossy.  Yes, I probably think I could do it better than you could.  I’m proud of myself for nursing as long as I have, and also for NOT listening to everyone who told me [insert advice here].  I can’t think of anything else to write, and that’s okay.

Whatever ‘me’ I have shared with you in the past, the real me wants you to know her.  I don’t want to please you anymore.  If you don’t want to be my friend because I’m not who you thought I was, then we probably shouldn’t have been friends in the first place.  It’s sad that I felt that I had to impress you, because I should have been stronger than that.  But now?  Now I just want to be me.

I have to be honest with you, I’m not going to lie.  There are times when looking much younger than my age is rather frustrating.

When a patient walks into the ultrasound room and asks me, “Are you sure you’re old enough to be doing this?”

Seriously, if I wasn’t old enough to be here, I wouldn’t be here.  I’m pretty SURE.

When going out to a bar or club, and getting everyone there carded, because I’m the one that looks under-age.  That’s inconvenient.

When I go clothes shopping, and I can’t find anything I like in my ‘age group’, so I check out the kids section.  That’s mostly just annoying.

But when I take my son to the mall, and I want to let him play around in the play place, it is probably the worst of all.  I’ve been trying, because everyone tells me if I go out and meet other parents, other moms, I can make a network of friends with whom I have something in common.

There’s one small problem with that.

All of the moms at the mall see me with my young son and immediately turn their backs, turn up their noses, turn off their interest.  No one smiles at us, no one asks us any questions.  No “How old is your baby?” or, “How cute… is he walking yet?”  They summarily ignore us, and it took me a while to figure out why.

I don’t look old enough to be his mother.  I don’t LOOK old enough.  No one bothers to find out how old I actually am.  I look like a teenage mom that had her baby just out of high school.  Or better yet, I look like the babysitter, lucky enough to get a gorgeous, well-behaved boy to take out with me!  Who wants to network with the babysitter?

I walk up to, and chat with just about everyone that is there.  Make comments about having fun, and what an awesome place this is.  How much Ronan loves it, and how it tires him out so well.  I get a polite smile, a nod of assent, and then a cold shoulder.

I think I need to get a tee-shirt made that says, “Yes I’m old enough to be his mom.  YES, I’m REALLY his MOM!”

Not that it would help.

Brock told me to go to the nearest high school and make friends with the ‘easy’ girls.  “They’ll be moms soon enough.”  Ha. Ha. Ha.

Now, all that being said.  Just because I look young doesn’t mean I’m a bad mom, nor does it mean that I’m not worthy of getting to know.  Some of my VERY best friends are older moms, and they like me just fine.  It makes me wonder if girls my age that have kids go through the same thing, or if it’s just some peculiar Charlotte breed of snobbery.  I guess time will tell.