Today heroic husband E offered to take the babe out in the pouring rain for an hour to give me some free time. That is the funny thing about being a parent. In the past you’d pull back the curtain, take one look at the rain and stay indoors all day playing Wii and watching movies. With a kid you are dying to get out of the house so you don’t go insane. What’s a little monsoon!
So…I decided to use my free time wisely. Dash across the street to the nail salon for a quick manicure and 15 minute massage. Ahhh. Finally some time free from anything kid!
Nope.
Instead when I walked in my normally quiet nail salon I was greeted by what appeared to be a birthday party for eight-year-old girls in full throttle. Fourteen of them. The place was as calm as a Long Island Chuck E. Cheese at noon on a Saturday. There were tons of girls dressed in little Ugg boots and fur vests and cooler jewelry than I have ever owned running around saying precocious things like, “Ugh! The nail polish selection here SUCKS! It’s not as good as my usual place.” and “What holiday is coming up? I like to pick my color based on the upcoming holiday. Oh yay! Valentine’s Day!!!”
I was not this cool when I was eight. In fact I was still wearing clothes my mother made for me and collecting seashells from our local beach. I didn’t know about nail polish until I was at least twelve, why? Because I was still playing in the mud and getting my nails dirty.
This scene was a different kind of cool. It was a creepy cool. It was as if grown up women were living inside these tiny little girl bodies. I had a sinking feeling each of these kids had eaten at Blue Ribbon Sushi since birth (the Park Slope one) or at least had heard of it.
On top of the chatter the salon TV was blaring updates of presidential candidates:
Precocious Girl #1: I think Hillary’s going to win this one
Precocious Girl #2: No. I think Obam-ba (Obama)
Precocious Girl #3: Hey look! Miley Cyrus! (commercial)
It was too late for me to turn around. It was pouring rain. The nearest nail salon was a good ten minute walk there and back. It would mean giving up one of my ‘treatments’ the manicure or the back massage and well…frankly that wasn’t worth the sacrifice. So I sat in the corner reading my magazines patiently waiting for my turn and doing my best to focus on my magazine regarding Britney’s latest meltdown and tune out the shrieks of laughter and chatter.
Suddenly I was approached by one of the little girls who had an “I was raised on organic foods only and live in a renovated Brownstone” way about her…
Precocious Girl #4: Excuse me…(shoving my shoulder aside) my friend needs to get behind you to the nail polish selection
Me: Ah… (shocked and looking up from magazine)
Precocious Girl #5: Yeah. I’m going to need you to…scoot .. so …
Me: Um…you are going to have to give me a second
I wanted to add ‘little girl’ at the end of my sentence but it sounded too old like ‘listen here sonny!’ and/or something a Mom would say when a little child was being rude. And then I realized oh wait – I AM A MOM.
So. I didn’t say it. I don’t know why. Even worse I reluctantly got out of my chair and moved over so these two brats could get to their nail polish color of choice. Or at least their second best choice since this place ‘sucked’.
Then – I spent the next 15 minutes thinking about the fact that I will have to raise Lili here surrounded by brats. Not all of the kids in Brooklyn are brats but some are. And plus girls are tough. They are mean and run in packs and can intimidate other girls. I spent plenty of nights at their age crying to my parents that I just didn’t ‘fit in’. This will be something we may have to handle as Lili’s parents. Not only that – other friends warned me that your kid inevitably becomes friends with that ONE kid with parents you have nothing in common with. What then? They invite you over for play dates at their four story Brownstone mansion and you invite them back to your place asking them to please leave their arms and legs outside because there is no more room in your tiny apartment?
Pre-Lili I always wondered if I would bring my daughter to a nail salon to get her nails done if I have a daughter. Now I have a daughter. I suppose it would be ‘cute’ if it were a special occasion and not something your kid became jaded about just like anything else.
For now I am determined to keep Lili a kid for as long as we can. There may not be seashells and mud in Brooklyn but god help me if I don’t help her find them.
