Shooting the breeze

So, it turns out I don’t speak adult anymore. This realization has been dawning on me for several months, but a job interview and a few coffee dates with my childless friends has brought it into sharp focus: I have nothing to talk about.

Nothing, aside from my children. Get me on the topic of the girls and I can wax lyrical. I have oodles of great conversational material ranging from the sleep habits of infants (they don’t sleep, full stop) to the joys of potty training a toddler who will pee on the carpet for attention. The problem is when I’m around people without kids (hereafter called normal people). Normal people have a passing interest in my children that includes checking they are well, and perhaps laughing at one cute story. Then the interest fades. Fast. What normal people don’t realise is that I have nothing else to discuss.

I’m a full time stay at home Mum. I love this role, and it’s my choice and desire to be a SAHM. I consider myself an educated woman, and somewhat interesting. Occasionally I’m even funny. I take an interest in current events and anything natural medicine focused. But despite this, I find if you don’t have a career and a social life you don’t have much to discuss.

In fact it’s kinda weird that it’s socially acceptable and normal to discuss your job, but when your kids are your job people don’t want to hear about it. Every mundane detail about your asshole boss and lazy co-workers makes fine dinner conversation, but that hilarious anecdote about your toddler trying to breastfeed her teddy is not. Why is that?

The other thing inhibiting my ability to ‘talk’ adult is my fatigue. I’m bone achingly exhausted. I can’t even string sentences together. I can actually see the normal people looking at me like motherhood has robbed me of my senses. ‘Has she always been this dull’, they ask themselves.

I’ll admit it, I’m embarrassed by this state of affairs. I miss lively conversations and witty banter. I’m aware the normal people don’t want to hear endless details about my kids, but I’m also aware of the uncomfortable silences I don’t know how to fill anymore.

Without doubt this will pass. The kids will go to school, I’ll study and work again, and I’ll have some dickhead boss who makes great dinner conversation. In the meantime, be gentle with me and endure my stories about my kids. I promise to listen to your’s one day.


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