How I Lost My Social Skills

Take two very socially adept gals together for coffee one morning, then throw in four children under the age of five, a blaring television or noisy restaurant, sleep deprivation for both gals and a long list of parenting anxieties both are personally feeling.

Now tell them to have a meaningful conversation.

Excuse me, what?!

Instead you’re gonna get fragmented sentences, very little eye contact (Billy just bit his brother), forgotten trains of thought and lack of focus.

This is for real.

When did talking get so tiring?

I remember thinking being a stay at home mom was going to be so great because I could be super social and just spend all of my time chattering away with other mothers of beautiful angelic babes who sit still and listen intently while I make a great point about this or that.

Ahem, wrong. So very wrong.

It’s enough to leave even the most socially adept person flailing in what used to be charted waters. Cotton mouth. Silence. Stammering. What were we talking about?

Oh yeah, conversing as a new mom.

In the past, I liked to think of myself as an expert in conversation. I had it down. I could listen, respond, ask a powerful question and then offer some insight all while standing on one foot sipping a latte backwards.

Now I’m lucky if there’s even one moment of connection between my chatting buddy and I.

It’s like I’ve lost someone I loved—the good conversation. To be honest, I think pre-baby I had one with someone who wasn’t my spouse 4-5 times a week or more. Now I’m lucky to have 2-3 a month. And I’m grieving. Started with denial, then moved to bargaining and now—acceptance.

I don’t mean to be too dramatic but this is a real thing in my life. Extroverts, raise your hand if you feel me.

Let me offer you some words of wisdom if you’ve had a similar experience.

Embrace the change: Once I accepted that this was my new normal, I began to leave my conversations feeling more fulfilled. I learned how to pick up where we left off when interrupted by children and how to ask powerful questions even though there was broken eye contact. I started to count all the positive connections that actually happened instead of feeling a void where I thought there should be more.

It’s ok for the conversation to be “not so great”: Sometimes just being with another friend who has children is good enough. There doesn’t always need to be some titillating conversation happening to make the time together worthwhile. Also, sitting in silence can be a good thing. Eek, that’s so hard for me to write, but true.

This is a season: I’m not going to have a diaper wearing, attention snarfing, into everything toddler forever. Eventually he will grow up and entertain himself. That’s a relief. So this is just temporary. I will also hopefully eventually return to eight hours or more of sleep per night. At least that’s what my friends say, bless them.

Don’t take it personal: Just because I can’t seem to string super intelligent sentences together doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. It means I’m a new Mom. And if my girlfriend doesn’t seem super interested in what I’m saying it doesn’t mean I’m boring, it means she’s a Mom too with five thousand things to think about at once. I cut myself some slack and life got a whole lot happier.

Overall moral of the story: go easy on yourself, be patient while conversing when children are around and make sure to leave the kiddos at home every once in awhile and enjoy an uninterrupted chat with a friend.

Our Friend Ralph

He was a large man. When you’re nine years old everyone seems so much bigger than you, but he really was. Well over six feet tall and full bodied. He had a pleasant, billowy laugh. It was gentle and easy. Never loud…it just flowed with a sincerity that still echoes in my mind.  

He visited my Mom at our store regularly. He smiled as he called out her name with a warm hello.  He always wore a big, manly coat in the winter. It was corduroy with a wooly collar…his flannel shirt buttoned up to his neck, peeked out just a bit. His dark work pants just barely reached the top of his laced up work boots. He wore a thick beanie hat. His glasses fogged from the cold winter air.  

He knew just what to do. He walked slowly to the back stockroom to get a broom. His worn out work boots shuffled along the narrow hallway. He seemed to like sweeping. The broom gliding across the linoleum tiles with a quiet ease. He smiled, taking pride in his work.  

“Ralph, would you mind shoveling the front sidewalk?” my Mom asked as she readied the front counter for the day. “I’ll get right on it, my Nancy,” he replied.  

My Nancy.  

She was important to him. She listened to his stories. It was mostly one or two….told over and over. Yet she paid attention as if it was the first time she heard it. His voice was deep and warm…somewhat captivating. She listened.  And he smiled.

She never saw him as a grown man with the mind of a child. She saw the kindness of his heart and his need to feel the satisfaction of a job well done. She always had chores for him to do. Boxes to take out, floors to sweep, sidewalks to shovel. And when he finished he would always walk up and lean on the counter.  

“Well, I guess that wraps it up for today”, he’d say. Mom would “pay” him with lunch from the diner two doors down, or some snacks to take back to his room for later. He always acted surprised that she gave him something. And he smiled.

Ralph lived in a state funded home for men. No money, no family. His mind was that of a child…his heart was that of pure gold. When he missed several days at the store, Mom called the home to check on him. Though in her heart she already knew, they confirmed that Ralph had passed away. She sat down and wept. He wasn’t the only one that looked forward to his visits in our store.

I was nine years old. That gentle giant left a mark on my life. And I want to be like him and even more so like my Mom. Perhaps they were birds of a feather.  

The kindest of souls…the purest of hearts. And I smile.