Just Call Me Wingmom
Can a happily married mother find her place in a pickup joint?
When my two best friends, Erika and Carol, announced that they were sick of nursing their broken hearts and were ready to start dating again, I was elated for them and terrified for myself. Where, I wondered would that leave me? At age 38, with two kids under 6 and a husband, my romantic life was far from exciting. Although we are all the same age, and Carol also has two children, the possibility loomed that they would soon be leading exciting lives as youngish singletons while I was stuck in the doldrums of advancing years and married life. The first inkling of what lay ahead came last Halloween. Erika, who doesn't have children, went to a singles party dressed as a sexy bee and danced till dawn on a podium. I, on the other hand, spent Halloween trudging around a Medway subdivision trying to keep Kieran, my milk-allergic son, from accidentally ingesting a Milky Way while I was unsuccessfully scraping dog poop from the bottom of my shoe.
I imagined things could only get worse. When my friends were dishing about their latest hot date or romantic fling, what was I supposed to do? Regale them with stories about my most recent "date night" at the Natick mall?
Erika, Carol, and I met in middle school. For the past 27 years, we have done our best to make our romantic lives converge. It all started when I got asked to the junior prom by the cute German exchange student, and Erika agreed to go with Golgi, his ugly, skinny friend, just to keep me company. And this was after Golgi tried to kill her dog. Carol, the only one of us with a driver's license, also went with someone she didn't like so Erika and I wouldn't have to ask her dad to take us.
It was perhaps out of some misguided sense of obligation that, 23 years later, I agreed it was my turn to be wingman and go singles-bar hopping with them. I knew that I was in over my head before I left my house. I hadn't worn makeup since my wedding, and I don't even own a full-length mirror. That's why Brendan, my 3-year-old, found me trying to balance on the edge of the bathtub in high heels so I could check out my outfit in our over-the-sink mirror. "Mommy, that's dangerous."
As I caught sight of far too much skin peeking over the edge of the low-waisted jeans I had bought for the occasion, I realized just how right he was.
"Is that a ponytail, Mommy?" he asked, eyeing the dreadlocks that were piled on top of my head in a messy approximation of an up-do. "Are those earrings?" Before I could answer, he looked at me with suspicion and demanded to know: "Mommy - are you a girl?"
Once inside the club, I really panicked. I hadn't made flirtatious chitchat with a man other than my husband since Bill Clinton was in office. Anyway, I wasn't supposed to be making flirtatious chitchat. I'm married. I teach sociology. We drove to the club in a minivan. Flirtatious chitchat was for women with exciting things in their purses like condoms and backstage passes. My purse contained a highlighter and a Huggies Pull-Up.
Just as suddenly, though, I felt liberated. I didn't have to be cool. Unlike my girlfriends, I wasn't trying to get a date. I like being married. Still, I relished a night without "couple-friends" and small talk about house renovations or the escalating costs of private preschools. There were no expectations. I could just be me.
I spent the rest of the night laughing, dancing, drinking, and finding suitors for my girlfriends. Wingman, I realized, was a role that suited me to a T. I got to experience the fun part of dating (the thrill of the chase and the high of meeting new people) without all the parts I used to hate (the bad dates, the unreturned phone calls, the rejection). It turns out I really like dating - now that I'm married.
The next morning, Brendan gave me the once-over. He put his hand in my hair and pulled my face right next to his. "You're my mommy, and you're a girl," he announced. I smiled.
Zine Magubane is working on a book on African-American mothers. She lives in Natick with her husband and two boys. Send comments to coupling@globe.com. 