An apology to everyone I talk to

I’ve been noticing something lately. I’ll walk away from a conversation, or review it in my head hours later, and realize I was only barely paying attention at the time. I missed an opportunity to truly connect with someone, or wasn’t the listening ear someone was seeking.

Sorry, everyone I’ve spoken to in the last few weeks.

Here are my excuses for this rather neglectful and rude habit I seem to have fallen into. 

First off, I’m pregnant. And pregnancy brain is totally a thing. Doesn’t it make you more absent-minded or something? I forget.

Secondly, I have a toddler. And I am a stay-at-home mom. Therefore, my day usually consists of one-sided conversations, asking questions that only require one-word answers already in her vocabulary, repeating her adorable mispronunciations, or desperately trying to figure out what she’s communicating while she says “please” over and over or cries.

When I am suddenly thrust into an adult conversation, I apparently don’t know how to handle myself. I nod along to whatever it is you’re saying, and then somehow find a way to tell you about the new skill my daughter has learned, or what her favorite food is, or the cute thing she did the other day. Because I guess I don’t have anything else to talk about anymore. And I guess I assume you want to hear about these seemingly mundane details that make up the fabric of my life now.

I forget to ask you why you have that doctor’s appointment, or how your week has been going, or what your kids are up to, or a whole host of other things that more functional friends are probably talking to you about.

Again, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not intentionally ignoring your subtle hints or trying to bore you with the latest antics of my kid. I’m sorry I’m out of practice in productive conversation.

But my life revolves around a little person who can’t quite hold up her end of a deep discussion just yet.

Cheryl Hazelton

Cheryl Hazelton

I’m actually a Canadian, swept off my feet and across the border by my dashing husband, to the little house he built near Massena. We have two rambunctious, blonde-headed gals who inherited at least a little of our stubbornness.
Cheryl Hazelton

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