He is such a baby

The competitive mom seems fairly nice at first. She will ask you matter of fact if your kid is doing this or that and, because you are used to comparing notes (I said, comparing notes, as in, is my kid developing ok kinda way), you answer. Competitive mom then unleashes her insecure, annoying, bitch of a monster and puts her kid all the way on his tiny, little pedestal, because he is the tallest, healthiest, smartest of the bunch. Lets face it: what competitive mom is actually saying is, "I'm better than you."

And what I'm thinking is, "who gives a shit?"

Although I have been guilty of comparing kids, mostly because I want to make sure mine is ok, when competitive mom says, "I can only imagine what my wonderful, God's gift to humankind child will be doing when he gets older. " 

Ok, she didn't say that, but that's how she sounds. I want to tell her, "he will be smoking pot to escape your living vicariously through him."

I look at her baby. He is slouched and lifeless, his head tucked in a way that his face makes three chins. He looks pretty blobby to me. Like a blob baby. Meanwhile my kid is trying to entice him. He bangs shit around and passes by blob baby screaming. Then he stops and looks at blob baby, as if to say, "come on, blob baby, follow me and let's get our fingers stuck inside the DVD player. It makes momma scream 'no' and she makes a funny looking face. It's fun!" Blob baby looks unphaser, so Matthew gives up.

Competitive mom is talking about blob's achievements that to me sound pretty standard. Like rolling over. Who gives a rats ass if your kid is rolling fucking over? He should have started it months ago, bitch.

Then she asks, "What is Matt doing these days?" I look at him and he is staring back at us, chewing paper. Where did he find it?

I want to tell her that he is walking sideways on his walker because he hasn't figured out that humans walk forward. I also want to tell her I tried to get him to clap his hands this morning while holding his little wrists. He clammed his little fingers shut, so the knuckles hit each other, which made him giggle. Maybe he is just not the clapping hands kinda guy.

I just say, "he is into biting furniture right now."

Competitive mom says a sympathetic, "oh."

Later on husband asks, "How is so-and-so and her baby?"

I say, "We can't hang out anymore. Her baby is going to fucking Harvard next year. Or maybe it's Yale? I can't remember."

"You need to stop cussing," husband says.

"...and meanwhile Matt is just sitting there, chewing shit."

"Yeah, he is such a baby!" husband laughs.

"I know!"