Is there a Mommy in the House?

A few weeks ago, I signed up for the obligatory Mommy and Me class. (Am I the only one who finds the name "Mommy and Me" annoying? It's named from the babies' perspective, but they can't talk yet. When I say it, I feel like one of those parents who pretend to channel and then speak for their baby. Anyway.)

The group facilitator passed around a form requesting basic contact information.
Baby's name? No problem.
Date of birth? Got that.
Pediatrician's phone number? I keep his card in the diaper bag.
Mother's name? JoAn… Wait a minute. Four letters in, and I realized my mistake. I was writing my mother’s name.

After three and a half months, I still don’t feel quite like a mom. I love my baby more than anything, but I lack the skills I think a mother should have. A mother is the kind of woman who can effortlessly get dinner on the table, clean the house and keep a gaggle of kids entertained, no problem. Her dresser has lovely perfume bottles on it, not old dry cleaning tags. She knows how to unpack all the boxes that ended up in the basement, and how to pick a paint color for the kitchen. She knows where the circuit breaker is, and what to do with it. Her linen closet does not look like a college student's laundry bag. She can negotiate successfully with customer service representatives. She is the finder of lost things--she shouldn’t have to hunt for her car keys before leaving the house.

Is there a class for all that?