I am That Mother

I am , unabashedly, That Mother. You know, the one who thinks her child is IT. Brighter, better looking, funnier, stronger, more coordinated, more advanced, more Everything than other children. I hate Those Mothers. I have wanted to slap Those Mothers, and here I find myself smiling and nodding when other mothers tell me that Ainslie is a good jumper for her age because she clears the floor with both feet, as I nastily think to myself, "and she has for months and months." I find myself feeling sorry for the moms of children who can not point out "Two birds on top" of the Shell sign as we drive by. I shake my head for the poor mothers with 21 month- olds who can not yet point out most of the letters of the alphabet and make the correct sound. How on earth do people parent children who are not good at pretending Kitchen, Baby Ainslie, and the Stuck Game? How hard it must be to get all the way through a shopping trip without someone commenting on your child's radiant beauty!

I am blessed and lucky. Ainslie has been nothing but easy, and we get each other. I think she even gets the competitive streak that I try to hide from her.

Of course being That Mother is not socially acceptable, and allowing Ainslie to act like That Child would be completely grotesque, but after waiting so long for her and having those painful years to plan all the experiences I wanted to give her, I think I'm somewhat entitled to some of my smug satisfaction in her perfection.