Big Daddy Paul Is Lousy At Making Friends

Posted by Big Daddy Paul in Paul is a Dork, Uncategorized

I noticed last week that my best friend in Paris still enjoys playing with stuffed animals. It was a, “What am I doing with my life?” moment, and I stepped up my efforts to make some connections on the friend-front. Granted, I am not expecting to replace all my friends back in the bay area, but it would be nice to have conversations with someone capable of making the “th” sound properly. (“Daddy, da fird grade teacher told me I didn’t do nuffing on Fursday!”)

At first, I looked for other stay at home dads here. After whiffing on a search for stay at home dad groups in Paris, I hit Google for the following:

“Male companionship in France.”

“Other Big Daddies in the city of light”

“How to find guys with little ones in Paris.”

That totally didn’t work, although it did reveal some interesting mustache ideas. Strike two.

I switched things up and hit up a website for English speaking expats here. I found that they were having a coffee for new members to the area and it was right down the street from Malcolm’s school. It sounded perfect! I arrived at the cafe and found three groups of people seated at tables quietly engaged in conversation. I stood there dumbly for a second trying to discern which of the groups were my soon to be expat friends, but my keen ear failed to detect any friendly tongues. I investigated by taking a seat at a nearby table and eventually found the English speakers were. As I prepared to make my entry into the conversation, I realized that the two women seated there were talking about breast-feeding. Abort! Abort! How the hell was I supposed to seamlessly get myself into this conversation?

Briefly, I considered the blunt approach:

Hi! My name is Paul. I am from the United States, and my nipples are killing me too!

I was there to make friends, not creep the hell out of people, so I decided the more prudent course of action would be to just wait it out. I ordered coffee and a croissant and hoped that the topic would fizzle sooner rather than later. Five or ten minutes later, I still hadn’t found an entry point. I was getting worried that if I sat there too much longer, I would just wimp out and go home. Then all I would have is a ton of self-loathing and an overworked anti-virus program. After what I considered an acceptable amount of time to talk about the trials and tribulations of nursing, I regrouped and introduced myself (sans nipple references.) They were nice!

Things went smoothly for a while, all of us talking about our backgrounds and making small talk. Soon, more mommies and soon-to-be-mommies showed up and before long, there were eight or so of us engaged. As my luck would have it, I was trapped at the “We are going to talk about babies the whole time,” part of the table. There was a time in our lives when I would be able to hold my own with topics like “Having a baby in a bathtub” or “C-sections, what was yours like?” Eight years removed from Malcolm’s birth, though, I was not really of much use. The sad thing, though, was that I sat there, mute. I definitely felt like the women there should have the space to talk about all this baby stuff (we sure did when Malcolm was a baby,) but I am just not into it anymore. I chimed in whenever the topic of conversation changed, but like the stank of baby vomit on your sweatshirt that you can never fully get rid of, I felt like I was out of place. Did these women want me there? Did I want to be there?

Who's got one thumb and is occasionally socially awkward?

Who’s got one thumb and is occasionally socially awkward?

Is that weird? Can I ask four questions in a row? (Yes!) I am hardly the first dad who has felt a bit out of place around a group of moms. I must say, though, that this is new for me. My stay at home parenting group when Malcolm was little was a group of guys focused on two things, raising kids and drinking beer (although not always in that order.) I’ll take some lumps learning the ropes in this world of mommies, but hopefully it won’t be anything too severe.

I am perfectly willing to chalk this one experience up to “wrong place, wrong time,” though. When women get together they talk about more than just babies, right? I have to assume so. In many respects, finding friends is eerily similar to the dating scene. Not every date is going to go well. Sometimes your date eats salad with their fingers or checks their cell phone too much. Or, sometimes they talk about the inner workings of their uterus to relative strangers. Either way, the key is to not give up. I won’t. Until then, playing stuffies on Fursdays will have to do.


4 responses to “Big Daddy Paul Is Lousy At Making Friends”

  1. Regina says:

    Find a Bocce Ball or a Hash House Harriers Group stat!

  2. Todd O says:

    “Granted, I am not expecting to replace all my friends back in the bay area…”

    just Greg, right? Cheers!!!

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