Took C to Music Time at the local Borders today. Didn’t libraries used to do this kind of thing? Maybe they still do. The libraries I’ve been in lately are depressing, poorly-lit government buildings. Perhaps I should look into this more.

The place was packed with moms (and a few dads) and their kids. C seemed to be the youngest one who actually clapped and danced along with the music. Well, she did that for about 7 minutes, then she sat on my lap with her hand in her mouth the rest of the time, enjoying herself in that reserved, observant way she has.

I didn’t realize until today just how tall she is. We’ve known for a while that she’s in the 95+ percentile, but I hadn’t made the connection between a dot on a graph and her height in relation to flesh-and-blood kids. She was on a par with kids who, judging from their coordination, were more like 2 years old. Oh dear.

I wonder what percentage of the moms there were stay-at-home moms. Probably the majority. I like having Fridays off because I can go places with my girl and just blend in. Well, I assume that I blend in. Or is it like when I teach the mom’s group at church on Thursday mornings, where I relate to about 80% of what they talk about, but don’t know what to say about the 20% of the conversation that deals with their decision to stay home, how hard it is, and how they feel judged by people. Then the game becomes clear: One of these moms is not like the other. I sit quietly and wait for these moments to pass.

I don’t judge them; do they judge me? Am I bringing up a child who will know only stress and schedules? Am I selfishly trying to have it all? Am I paying someone to raise my kid?

I don’t want to deal with that great motherhood divide today, among the moms at the bookstore, so I wonder if I can just be one of them for a while. Or is there some subtle vibe I emit that says, “I work outside the home?” How would one be able to tell? Am I just a little less attached to my daughter because I am away from her several days each week? Am I just the teensiest bit slower in anticipating her needs and moods than I would be if she were with me all the time? Do I seem just a little too focused and goal-oriented that this be quality time since quantity time is rarer?

No.
I’m just being paranoid.
I know my child well, I love spending time with her, and this morning was relaxed and easy-going.

Except!
She had two encounters with older kids that totally pissed me off.

The first one: A boy around three years of age had two Big Bird stuffed toys, which he had pulled down from one of the shelves. He was playing with one, and the other sat idly by. C had spotted “Bibi!” on the floor and was going to pick it to pick it up when the little Nelson Muntz grabbed it from her and said, “No! Mine!” She started to cry. Mommy to the rescue. Comfort, distract, do my best not to kick the little monster in the shins.

Second one: C was minding her own business, looking at this floor-level display of doodads at the checkout counter. Another little girl (three-ish years old again) pushed her way between C and the display, forming a human shield between them, and gave her this nasty look as if to say, “This is my territory. I’m queen of the tchotchkes! Get lost.”

[Snap]… [Snap]… [Snap]… [Snap]…
Mom… mom… crazy mom… be cool, mom!

Part of me, the detached part, can watch, fascinated, as the process of ego development and individuation takes place with these other kids. “Mine” and “Go away” are a part of the journey, eh? And I’m sure they will be making an appearance in our home very soon.

The other part of me is resolved: if and when it’s time to preach on the “love your enemies” text, I definitely know my angle. As reasonable adults, we’re willing to put up with, and maybe even forgive, boorish behavior in our own enemies. If Jesus really wanted to pack a punch he would have said, “Love your child’s enemies, and pray for them.”