That morning I woke up nervous and excited. I was hopeful and scared. I set my alarm a half hour early so I would have time to beat my short wavy mombé hair into style submission. I applied an extra coat of mascara, and changed my outfit three times. Finally landing on my original choice: an oversized maroon sweater, cuffed skinny jeans and a pair of checkerboard slip-on Vans. I felt cute and confident. This was my current favorite look in the weekly rotation of mom uniforms.
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We moved through our usual morning activities with more ease than normal, as we were finally falling into a groove since starting Pre-School a few weeks prior. Frozen mini-pancakes for the toddler, toast and fruit for the baby. Coffee for Mama. My husband was out of town for work, so it was just me and the boys, and I felt like I was really finding my footing for the first time since we’d unpacked the moving boxes. I sipped my coffee as the boys chattered on, eating their meals and begging for one more episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse before we had to head out the door.
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As we pulled into the Preschool parking lot I threw up a silent prayer, that today – Please, Lord – today, can drop off please go well? For the past few weeks each Tuesday and Thursday I had to strap the baby into the Ergo and set my focus, because I needed both hands to haul my protesting toddler into the school, where he would whine and cry as I peeled his grip from around my neck and deposit him into the waiting arms of a school staff member. Each morning I was hopeful it would finally be the day it clicked for him and he would bounce off to play with his friends on the swing set – complete with a “bye – Mom!” tossed over his shoulder. My mind doubted that he was ready for the transition into such a new environment. With selling our home, moving to a new state and him turning 3 there had been a lot of changes in his world. But my mom-gut told me Preschool would be a good move in the long run. We both needed friends, desperately.
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I spun on my heel and bolted for the door of the school. Once I was on the other side, I peaked in the window to see he’d already calmed and was nodding in agreement with the teacher holding him. I exhaled and loaded the baby into his car seat; suddenly longing for our old friends and the familiarity of our days spent adventuring with them. I pulled up the maps app on my phone as I turned the ignition.
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I parallel park my SUV just as it’s starting to rain. I hop out and run around the car to crab my raincoat from the trunk. Pop the baby back into the Ergo and flip open my umbrella. I dodge puddles as I make my way to the door. Once inside I slip off my coat and place my soggy umbrella by the door. I make my way into the café, spotting a woman with short blonde hair and a double stroller. Here we go.
The next hour is a blur of new faces and coffee mugs. Babies are chirping for snacks and everyone is exchanging hellos and welcome greetings. I’m surrounded by a group of women, all from diverse backgrounds, but all with one thing in common – we’re moms and we need friends. The time passes far too quickly, and before I’m ready I need to excuse myself for preschool pick-up. I exchange numbers with two moms, feeling hopeful that this might be it. Maybe I’ve found my tribe.
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Later that afternoon, during naptime, my phone chimes. It’s a mom from this morning! I nervously swipe the screen.
So nice to meet you today, welcome to town!
If you need anything please let me know
My fingers fly into tapping a reply.
Thank you, everyone was so nice! I’m excited for our next meeting!
I later phone my closest Mom-friend, who now lives on the opposite coast. She immediately asks how the morning went, and I gush about the group and how great the vibe was. She laughs and deems the Mama Date a success. I agree.