Playdates are a great way for the babes to
lie there beside each other interact and play. I mean, sure, the mommies get to chat, snack and have some adult convo which is a fantastic byproduct of getting your kiddo some social time. But really, its all about the kids. The playdates are actually getting a little more exciting nowadays as Baby H gets older (he’s 5.5 months now) since he can roll around and seems somewhat interested in the other babies. Its pretty awesome when you can get a group together that have similar age kidlets – its always comforting to know other mamas going through the same trials and tribulations and experiencing the same joys as you!
HOWEVER…this is an ideal playdate sitch. Because, like anything else in life, there can be an ugly underbelly. Though I haven’t personally experienced this myself (yet), there are those playdates that turn into a case of ‘My baby can do this, what can yours do?!’ or ‘Oh wow..your baby isn’t sleeping through the night yet?! Shame…’ If there’s one thing about being a mama I could do without, its the constant comparisons of baby vs baby.
Tummy time. Sleep training. Starting solids. Organic homemade baby food vs. good ole Gerber. Monthly developmental milestones. There’s a seemingly endless list of hot topics that parents will have an opinion on. Which is fine. But – the key is to remember that every baby is *shock* different and *bigger shock* an individual to whom no strict set of rules will apply. One baby’s lack of crawling is another baby’s inability to sleep 4 straight hours is another baby’s rejection of the boob.
In other words, every child is unique and thus, every parent’s way of caring for said child will be unique. So – while I have been lucky enough to have fun and lighthearted playdates free of competitive snubs, I am aware they are out there and I’m sure Baby H and I will encounter them at some point. And when we do, I’m sure Baby H will find the most inopportune moment to spit up all over mama’s sweater, start screaming insanely as though he is being eaten alive, and throw his shoes all over the place. And as Stylinmommy packs him up and rushes, frazzled, to the car, she will quietly kiss him on his squishy cheekies and whisper ‘Thanks for gettin us outta there!’