Saturday, August 4, 2007

What I learned at swimming lessons

I should have known as soon as I pulled up to swimming lessons last Monday that I'd be feeling a little bit like a fish out of water. We pulled off a main road, lined with taquerias and bail bond shops, onto a small side road filled with Lexus SUVs, Range Rovers and BMWs.



Once we got inside, I soon realized that even though I was the youngest mom in the group, I was also by far the frumpiest (well, some of the nannies were frumpier, but I guess they don't count). I mean, these women were buffed and toned all over-- from their french pedicured toes, to their flat bellies, to their freshly highlighted heads. Each one wore the kind of perfect outfit that needs regular trips to the dry-cleaner to keep in decent shape and carried the kinds of fancy purses that I look at in magazines and think "who really buys those?". I swear that one of the moms was some kind of supermodel about five years ago.



So I've spent the last two weeks with a bit of an inferiority complex, and I'm sort of embarrassed to admit that. Looking at these women forced me to take an analytical look at my own closet (tons of plain t-shirts and capris for summer) and I realized that I've gone frumpy before my time. What's even worse, my kids are probably destined to a life of frumpiness because they have me as a mother, and I'm excited when I get their clothes at Target or Old Navy or can scour Gap and Gymboree for the ultra-super-mega-end-of-season sales. The kids at swimming lessons come in different suits for each class and if they're not sporting a little Polo pony on their swim trunks, they have Tommy Hilfiger stripes on the backs of their maillots.



I had a similar experience when Bryce was a newborn and I took him to see his pediatrician for the first time. Dr. Plax had come highly recommended from two friends who had newborns, and I went and interviewed him after-hours shortly before Bryce was born. But when he was a week old, and I was exulting over the fact that I could squeeze my fat into my jeans, my bubble was burst in a big way when I got to the doctor's office. Every other mom in the office looked like she came straight out of a Talbot's catalog. The mom sitting next to me, whose baby was born the same day Bryce was, looked skinny and perfect and tanned and composed, while I'm sure I just looked harried and depressed (the baby still hadn't figured out how to latch on and I thought it was all my fault).



I don't really know why I'm writing this. I'm not trying to say that being wealthy and polished makes these women bad moms, because I don't think that's true. I think I'm just sort of embarrassed that well into my thirties, driving a Kia, living in a less posh suburb, and wearing cheap flip-flops can suddenly make me feel like I have less self-worth. I doubt that if I did have the financial resources that many of these women do, I'd put any more effort into my appearance. I've never had my brows waxed (or anything for that matter), have only had a pedicure once, and try to wait at least six months between highlights. I could probably afford to do it more often, but I'm just lazy like that. If I have a few free hours, I like to go shopping, but I'd be just as happy reading a good book.



When I was in eighth grade, most of my friends were getting ready to go to private high schools. I begged my parents to let me go to the local girls' school, and they probably could have afforded it, but my dad (who is usually very laid-back about things) put his foot down. He didn't want me to grow up with any more of a sense of entitlement than I already had. I was so mad at the time, but in retrospect I think it was a good thing for me. I mean, I probably would have enjoyed myself more at private school than I did at the crazy public school I attended, but I learned a lot of good life lessons there.



Maybe I'm overanalyzing things, but I guess this experience has made me think because in just a few years we probably will be able to afford the kind of lifestyle that it looks like the swimming moms are living. Maybe I have too much of my dad in me, but it scares me to think of my kids growing up with a lot more advantages than they already have.



--originally published 4/21/06

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