Tales from La La Land

As Harper approaches her 1-year birthday, a sad reality is dawning on me – she has one friend.

Maybe her daycare peeps are her friends, but because I’m not friends with their mommies or daddies, they aren’t really her friends.

Unfortunately, for Harper I need to be able to hang with the parents if she’s going to be able to hang with the kid.

Call me selfish, but I’m not hanging out with the guy who tells me, “Yeah, she’s in, like, the 150th percentile for height” when talking about his daughter. I’m also not hanging out with the mom who says, “Yeah, we’re looking into preschools, and OH. MAH. GAWD. It’s sooo competitive.”

This is how I feel about even saying the word daycare before a child is ready.

So for the most part, my friends have remained the same, and most of my friends don’t have babies.

Now that Harper is getting older, play dates would be nice. So I’m putting myself out there, and trying to meet some cool parents.

Because it is awkward as fuck scoping people out at the playground and trying to determine if they fit your criteria.

“What about them?”- Me

“Do you see what he is wearing? That’s his playground attire.” – Laef

“Oooh what about them?” – Me

“That’s the lady we met when we were out on a walk with Harper, and made that racist comment about the people who work at Ralphs.” – Laef

“The fuck?” – Me

There we sat on the grass, perusing all the parents, sizing them up as if we were trying to determine if they were hot enough for a foursome, when in reality all we need is to be able to tolerate them (with clothes on) for like an hour each Saturday and Sunday.

There was another couple sitting near us on the grass, and after talking myself up for 5 minutes, I nervously approached.

“How old is your son?”

“He’ll be 1 tomorrow.”

“Aww. Congrats!!!” (in my head: Fuck I hate myself right now. Am I really engaging in this conversation hoping she’ll think I’m cool enough for her, and potentially give me her number at the end of this bullshit conversation?)

We chatted a little more, and things were looking promising when the Dad said that his 3 year old is way cooler than his 1 year old, and that basically being a parent to a person under the age of 1 sucks, and anyone who says it’s bliss is a liar.

And then the mom got up, and walked to their stroller. A few minutes later the 3-year old came over and said, “Dad, we’re leaving.”

That is totally the parental version of “She’s Just Not That Into You.” Dumped by a 3-year-old.

And so the journey will continue, and I will approach random strangers in the produce aisle hoping to get lucky.

10 Months Old