Talking about it.

Last night I went out to a club - a rare occasion. A friend of mine (read: ex-boyfriend from 3 years ago) was djing locally - also a rare occasion, as he lives far away in Boston. He and I broke up because we were going in different directions: he wanted to be a starving artist, frustrated with the world, and felt uncomfortable even with the idea of us moving in together after 3 years; I wanted to at least sometimes appreciate the wonderful things in life and to have a family someday (this was before Noah).

He's one of those people who always seems to have a name for kids that isn't "kids" and calls parents "breeders". I know, I know, how could I have ever left him?

I don't have a lot of friends who are parents. Okay, I have one. Actually, I have two, but the other for some strange reason never talks about her son unless directly asked, and then in very brief answers, like she's talking about a project at work or something. I don't understand that, and, honestly, I avoid her because of it. Like she's uncomfortable having a child.

I, like many non-parents, once wondered how it was that all parents seemed to talk about was their kids. Didn't they have interests? Didn't they have a life of their own? Now, years later and oh-so-enlightened, I know that being a parent is one of the greatest challenges of a person's life, if not the greatest. And I always thought that was b.s., but it's not. Every day is a lesson in creativity, patience, understanding, love, philosophy and intelligence (you try answering a 4 year old's questions about the universe some time). And at the end of the day, the most wonderful moment of my day is more likely going to be about the joke Noah made up rather than the project I finished at work. My projects don't hug me and love me and need me.

So last night, DJ Ex was at my apartment while I was getting ready to go out. He kept eyeing Noah suspiciously and wryly commenting on Noah's sense of humor (uncontrollable laughter ensued after the speaking of the not-bad word "buttocks", the making of farting noises by blowing on his arm, and running around the apartment and into things). I'm sure Ex would be surprised to know his behavior seemed so disdainful. Why is he acting like that? he asked. Because he's a 4 year old boy, I responded, laughing.

Later that night, I found myself talking to an old acquaintance of mine - a single, childless acquaintance. He hadn't known about my taking in Noah and becoming a parent 2 years ago. I started talking to him about it and found myself perplexed. Here I was, at a club, dressed up and made up like I used to be before I became a single parent and my social life disappeared. Was I going to risk boring this cutie with kid talk?

I'd like to say I didn't hesitate to just talk all night about Noah, but I did a little. I'd say I talked enough. Enough to show how much I love him, but not so much that it was all I talked about. I guess it's like talking to someone about any interest of yours that they don't have. It just seems so wrong to qualify a child as an "interest." I prefer talking to parents so much more. I'm never self-conscious when I talk to another parent.

Maybe it's different for me because Noah came to live with me when he was 2-1/2, so I haven't always been his parent, but I find that I'm still getting used to some things. One of them is just the comfort level of having a child. Knowing that Friendly's is a good restaurant to go to because the other patrons will not shoot evil glances your way if your child so much as raises his voice. Knowing that I am not the first person to leave a shopping cart in the middle of the grocery store to remove my child from the store because of a temper tantrum. Knowing that I can and should talk about Noah, because he's the coolest thing in my life, and always will be. And that doesn't make me lame. It would be lame if I didn't.