She Wore a Hijab

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A few minutes later Graham wandered up beside us. The woman’s daughter was sipping now from a huge cup, ornately decorated with princesses and fairies and I saw Graham’s eyes widen with interest.

“Juice mama,” he said, pointing. “Juice.”

And it’s quite possible that some kind of a disapproving look crossed my face, if only because I was picturing Graham’s s next move which I felt sure would involve screaming, tears, and a lecture on ownership.

But I wasn’t prepared for my new friend’s reaction.

“No no,” she said. “No juice, no juice. Water only.”

And I realized that her eyes were beseeching me in the same way mine had hers just moments ago.

I shrugged and smiled as reassuringly as I could. She smiled back, obviously relieved.

“I no give juice,” she said firmly. “Only water. Water better.”

And then it dawned on me.

We mothers are all alike.

From Canada to the Middle East, from Europe to Australia.

We all love our children. We all want what’s best for our children.

And we all live in perpetual fear that the mother next to us will reveal herself to be a bitchy stereotype who observes our parenting skills and judges them wanting.