Consider this speed-dating for potential new mom friends.
The only thing harder than being a new mom is trying to make mom friends. First you'll try and hold on to your old friends — the ones that still live in Manhattan, go to Broadway shows on Thursday nights, regularly eat meals prepared by someone else, and only eat chicken fingers in a dive bar after midnight.
These are the ones that, not surprisingly, consistently cancel lunch plans when they realize they'll have to catch the 8 AM train to make it to the suburbs in time for the first (and last) course of room temperature mac and cheese at 11 AM.
Once you've accepted that all your future adult friends will be fellow breeders, it's time to narrow the scope of potential candidates. But you're likely a harried, un-showered mess with kid(s) constantly fragmenting your attention.
You need speed dating. For moms. To meet other mom friends. Not to actually interview potential sexual partners, because look where THAT got you.
I've recently come to terms with my friendless suburban housewife status. Full disclosure, I don't really qualify as a new mom anymore, but some of us are late bloomers. I'm finally ready to meet someone (or possibly two people ... three would be pushing it. Any social engagements would reduce my already brief allotment of personal care time and my family prefers I shower at least weekly).
The next time I have three to eight minutes with a potential new mom friend, I'll be ready.
1. How many kids do you have?
One? One I can work with. Two is perfection. I have two. Two I understand. Three? Maybe. Three isn't a deal-breaker but it bumps you to second string. I don't know how you can watch three at the same time. And while I'm willing to pitch in with childcare for those I love and adore, I'm not aggressively looking to increase my workload, hear me? Four? *rings bell*
2. Wine or beer?
This is a trick question. I really just want to know if you drink, but I don't want you to think I'm a depraved alcoholic. But if you tell me that the only thing you need to unwind after a day of toddler tantrums and feces-flinging is a bit of downward facing dog and a chamomile tea, we probably aren't going to gel.
3. When does your little one nap?
Every time I find a margarita-swilling, ukulele-playing, Amy Sedaris-loving woman with kids the same age as mine, her youngest's nap time inevitably ends the moment my youngest goes down for his. This ensures we will never, ever, be able to schedule a park playdate.
4. How old are your Hell Spawn?
Did you look horrified when I implied your children were the progeny of Satan? Yes? *rings bell* Did you smirk? Perhaps even laugh? Then we have a chance, lady. Unless your youngest is five years older than my eldest. I'm just going to get jealous that your kids can wipe their own bums and you're going to pine for the days when your children would point to a banana and say, "lellow" instead of "I hate you."
5. Sheriff Callie or Caillou?
What's that? Your kid doesn't watch any TV? *rings bell*
6. Does your kid sleep?
I can see by the hollows under your eyes that the answer is a "no." I'm so sorry, sweetie. I didn't have good sleepers either. Mine have only just started sleeping through the night. And that's how I know we aren't going to be friends. Just looking at you is giving me PTSD flares. We can have another go at this in six months. In the meantime, let me buy you a vodka Red Bull and stick you in a cab.
7. What time do your kids get up in the morning?
Because mine are usually up by 5 AM. So if you're going to propose a 4 PM playdate, we'll just go ahead and end this right here. I'm looking for someone to meet me and my brood at the playground as the sun rises. We'll toast the new day with our fourth cups of coffee while watching the maintenance guys remove the padlocks from the gates. I'm serving dinner at 4 PM, you sloth.
8. Where do you get your hair done?
Supercuts? I get it. Appointments are for the bourgeois. That new, swanky place two towns over? Go, girl! You look amazing! Anywhere in SoHo? I'm visibly turning green. And I don't have the energy to pretend I'm not. So... *rings bell*
9. Do you work?
Honestly, you can't get this one wrong. If you've made it this far, I'm just making polite conversation until it's socially acceptable to suggest we park our kids in front of the TV and enjoy an 11 AM margarita with our take-out enchiladas.