The other day at brunch with our friends (and our kids), hubby reminded me that I was talking about my kid a lot. “Remember, when you told me to remind you if you started to go on and on about your kid, well, you’re doing it.” Ahem, he has done this twice recently. And each time, I tell him, yeah, you can stop reminding me that I reminded you to do this 2 years ago. You can STOP NOW. Because frankly, I know I’m talking about my kid but it’s to someone I know very well who HAS a kid. And it’s a CONVERSATION not a monologue. Oh, I get his point, all right. I did say that because it used to drive me NUTS when people went on and on about their kid to me when all I really wanted was to talk about anything else. I wanted to talk about shopping or shoes or sex. I had scars in places where the sun don’t shine from my years on infertility island, the last thing I wanted to do was be caught in a conversation about the funny thing my kid said the other day or labour and delivery stories. That was always my cue to go pee or get another drink or something.
I think what he MEANS to say is that HE’S sick of hearing me talk about my kid in public. Which is odd cause all he ever does in private is talk about the kid. This brings me to my next point.
I’m a little bit embarrassed to not have ANYTHING ELSE to talk about. Besides typing in the dark for 4 1/2 hrs for consumer research. Which by the way, I’m not supposed to talk about because occasionally clients will ask me to sign non-disclosure agreements. As if anybody but them gives a flying fig about the next new flavour of crappy cookie they’re putting out. I used to talk about working with this or that celebrity or auditions or a film party or something vaguely glamorous sounding.
And speaking of auditions, I had one. A good part, too. I had to take the kid though – no sitter for the middle of the day. I thought he could sleep during the drive there and back. So off we went, me talking to myself the whole time, trying to psych myself up, trying to convince myself that I was bringing along my lucky charm, my #1 fan….. who proceeded to object to me leaving him in a waiting room full of good looking strangers. He clutched on to me. What a nerve, eh? I forgot that the last time I had brought him, he didn’t have the power of speech or separation anxiety. He used to be entertained by a smiling cute face of a woman with a shiny object. Now of course, he was wide awake and not willing to let any facsimile of me get close to him. I was next of course, and I had to tell them to WAIT. Then I was invited to bring him in THE ROOM. I was apologetic and mortified at the same time. A casting director tried to say, hey, let’s watch mommy on the monitor. He wasn’t having that either, so she went out with us into the waiting room and proceeded to baby wrangle (charm) him while I snuck back in to do my audition. I thanked her profusely and we left. I bundled the Precious back into his stroller and zipped on the raincover as we strolled out of the studios in the pissing rain. Of course, I tried not to dwell on the fact that I didn’t have two minutes to myself to truly concentrate and settle down before I unleashed my prodigious talent for the camera. I don’t think I sucked, I just don’t think I did the job I wanted to do. We stopped in at Starbucks a few minutes later for a piece of cake and a coffee. I wanted to savour the moment my career truly died.
Maybe I could talk about THAT the next time we go for brunch.