Like mother like daughter

This morning I decided to make some sort of effort at being a "good mom" and take Ivy to story time at our local library.We walked into a room with a grown woman yelling a story at a group of wiggly toddlers, and Ivy turned to me and gave me a look that read, "what kind of freak show is this?". She refused to sit on the mat or get up and dance to the hokey pokey, and I started to feel like maybe I've failed her as a mother. Because honestly, I was also uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable around all the other moms who could tell that I've failed to properly socialize my child, I was scared of small talk, and I was hoping that parents weren't required to also dance to the hokey pokey. They were. It's kind of why we don't usually go to story time. Between the two of us, we're an antisocial wreck.

The narcissist in me loves that Ivy inherited some of my traits. She has my hair and my eye color, and she loves to tell jokes. But I was hoping she could skip out on my shyness. Because it's hard to be shy. It's hard to have people tell you how shy you are, even when you think you're being friendly. It's hard to dislike parties and it's hard to blush any time you have something to say to a group.

Sorry, Ivy.