I’ve written before about my desire for more queer mom friends. Making mom friends is really hard. And it’s only made harder when you’re often the only queer mom in your mom circle.

When my son was born, we lived with my parents. I was lucky because my best friend at the time lived nearby and had a son the same age as mine. But I needed more than one friend, so I decided to start attending one of those baby groups. Our local library hosted one every week, so I’d load up my baby and we’d go. It was cool for him to be around a bunch of other babies (I guess, he was an infant) but more importantly, it was nice to be around other moms. I could talk to them about naps and feeding them solids, who was walking and talking, and lament about things like breastfeeding and the lack of sleep that came with early motherhood. But inevitably, they’d talk about their husbands or boyfriends, and I would be left out. At the time, I wasn’t out as queer and had recently ended a relationship with my son’s father. One minute I felt like I was part of the group, and the next, I remembered I was on the sidelines.

I was so desperate for mom friends and to feel included that I went to church. Now before you say anything, yes I know there are inclusive religious folks. But these are not the people I encountered. I became friends with the pastor’s wife — we would usually meet at the neighborhood playground, but sometimes she invited us over. One day we got into a very heated debate about gay marriage. At that moment, I didn’t feel comfortable outing myself to her, but I gradually stopped hanging out with her after expressing my disappointment in her views. We stayed Facebook friends, and after I came out, she tried to insinuate that I was an intolerant lesbian (at the time, I identified as bisexual or queer, so she was wrong on two counts). It was the one time a mom friend had turned on me because of who I was, and it was an important lesson.

My son was school-aged when I started dating women, but it wasn’t until I met my partner that the person I was dating became a part of his life regularly. This happened to coincide with the pandemic, which means we weren’t interacting with other parents much. And when we were, it was happening separately. She often took him to the local playground after virtual school, and during that time, the other moms came to recognize her. For her, it was difficult to relate to them because she had only been a mom for a few months. The first time I took him to the same playground, the kids he played with repeatedly asked him which one of us was his “real” mom, well within earshot of their mothers. Not once did those moms stop their kids and tell them that was an invasive question. Those moms had made assumptions about our family dynamic too; they seemed fine with there being two moms, but no one could hide their surprise that I’m Black.

The regular moms who knew my partner were cordial to me, but they didn’t try to engage me or invite me into their social group the way they did with my partner. They gushed about how much they loved her and how sweet my son was, but they didn’t have any interest in getting to know me. It was hurtful, because whether they intended to or not, they made it very clear which one of us they felt was worthy of their time. And unlike my partner, I would have been more interested in doing the mom talk with them.

As far as I know, my partner and I are the only same-sex parents at my son’s K-8 school. The school itself is incredibly inclusive; the administration knows our family dynamic and are always warm and welcoming to my partner and I. Before the pandemic, there was a middle school GSA, and many classrooms have inclusive books. But I know there’s been negative feedback from families in the past. I’d been told by several administrators that I was rare for pushing for more inclusivity in classrooms. When I volunteered with the GSA, they were shocked to see a parent who wanted to be involved. And not only a parent, but a queer parent. Even though no one had directly othered me, I felt it, because I knew my beliefs were so vastly different from the typical parent in our community.

There’s a certain amount of risk calculation you have to do when you’re the only queer mom in a group of parents. It’s a sad truth: You simply don’t know how those parents will react. And more importantly, you don’t know how that will affect the way they treat you. Or how their kids will treat your kid. One of my biggest fears is that one of my son’s friends will be told to stop hanging out with him because their family doesn’t approve of his two moms. Kids might be able to make their own assumptions about people, but they’re still very influenced by the adults in their life.

Last school year, my son told me that one of his male classmates called another little boy in their class “gay.” Of course, my kid knew exactly what that meant and asked me if hugging his male friend made him gay. We talked about it, and I told him that next time someone said that, he could say “my moms are gay, and being gay is great!” The whole situation gave me an uneasy feeling though. Look, I know kids can pick things up from anywhere, but I had to wonder who at home this kid heard that from. Then I had to do a risk assessment on what would happen if that kid’s family found out one of his classmates had gay moms. Would it become a thing? This was a kid he considered a friend; I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. At the same time, I don’t want my kid being friends with someone who would use gay as a derogatory comment. Especially a kid who was only in the second grade.

Interactions with other parents are always awkward, if I’m being totally honest. But it’s most obvious when you’re the only queer moms in the group. This is the most obvious at birthday parties. When I was a kid, my friends’ dads never came to a birthday party. But that’s not the case for my kid’s peers. But the dads just kind of sit there mostly silent. My partner and I are very chatty people and will converse with most of the parents at a party. So it makes me wonder why the other moms drag their husbands along if they’re not going to engage. It’s weird!

While I’m grateful that so far none of the hetero parents have been blatantly exclusionary to my partner and I, it would be nice to feel more included in the group.

Tell me, have you found this to be true? How do you cope with it?

Queer Mom Chronicles is a monthly column where I examine all of the many facets of queer parenthood through my tired mom eyes. 

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