This past Sunday, the boyf, the bambino, and I braved it and met up with our National Childbirth Trust (NCT) group for the first time since the summer. For those that need the instant recap: Met a bunch of parents-to-be at antenatal class. The mums started meeting up weekly. At first it was fun but as soon as we popped it became distinctly uncomfortable as the comparison, competitiveness, and clique vibe all kicked in. It was like school except this time, the only way I could fit in was by pretending that I was miserable and that my baby was a pain in the arse that wouldn’t sleep or feed properly.

There are a multitude of reasons why I stopped going to these meetings but it’s safe to say that the racist comment was the tipping point…. But after going on Sunday and recently partaking in my local mum and baby group, I’m still scared of Other Mothers but I realise that I have to suck it up and get on with it. Whether I want to or not, I have to realise that I have been dragged by my va-jay-jay (vagina for those that prefer it) and my reproductive system into the corner of the sisterhood that keeps giving the gift of bitchiness, insecurity, and competition.

It took five months to get into the mum and baby group that’s thirty seconds from our house and one of the trade offs of extending my maternity leave was that I promised the boyf that the bambino would get the opportunity to socialise with other babies each week. In baby speak, that’s grab other baby’s by the head and lick their scalps (I’ve warned her about cooties and other such unpleasant things), fight other babies for the toys that you weren’t interested in two seconds ago, and force your poor mum to sit with a bunch of desperate housewives…

The first time I went, they all hung in clusters. I reminded myself that I was there for the bambino, not me, and let her roll all over the toys whilst I caught up on some work (yay for multitasking). Using my detective skills honed on too many episodes of CSI, I caught a few of them sneaking me looks and also overheard them talking about an ex member of the group. As they debated over whose baby she was carrying, I realised that this is what these groups are for.

It’s not for stimulating your child because their kids could have been out on the main road for all they cared. It’s for talking about Other People’s Business. Including the very people that you are gossiping with.

The following week I had one of those awkward black on black moments. It was a real ‘Hi, yeah…. I’m from a small town where there aren’t much black folk, you’re from here too, but I hope you don’t think I’m rent-a-friend’. I knew I wasn’t wrong when I asked where she lived in the town. I was making conversation but it was only after I saw her facial expression that I realised that she thought I was angling to meet up! Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!

They still hang in clusters four weeks in but I don’t care. The most cliquey are the tracksuit brigade so I make a point of looking casual hot to trot. Yeah, yeah – how not to win friends and alienate people…. But I refused to pretend that I hated being a mum, that childbirth didn’t hurt, that I was comfortable with people competing over stuff like baby weight, and other such ridiculous things. Why the hell would I now start dressing down and investing in a pair of Reebok Classics just so I can get down with my mummy homeys in the baby hood?!

A couple of people I know have managed to get into the group so it’s not like I sit there on my own having to overhear conversations. I can have a catch-up and be ‘forced’ to listen to the gossip of Other Mothers.

Taking the advice of various readers, I decided to speak as I find, so on Sunday when she of the dubious racist comment (Miss Tactless) said that she’d be breastfeeding until he decided that he was ready to stop feeding, I replied “That’ll be when he’s twelve then….”. She look surprised and I thought “Ha!” I did have to restrain myself from saying “Bitty…”

The lunch was good fun and it was great to see how the babies had changed but there was still that air of wistful comparison and competition, and no child was subjected to it more than ours, purely down to the fact that we haven’t seen them for a long time. I think Miss Tactless was almost relieved when she realised that the bambino will be the last to cut her teeth! Me being me, I didn’t get too involved in all the mummy chat and found myself having a laugh with the lads talking about ventriloquism (don’t ask) and celebs that like dogging…

So the insecurity, competition, and clique stuff will continue on but there will always be me taking the p*ss, being a smart arse, and taking the conversation into the gutter…

I dedicate this post to Q’s dog Trafford who passed away at the weekend. He often listened to his mistress curse her own mum and baby groups and will be sorely missed!

This entry is also published on Dollymix