While my single friends complain bitterly about the dearth of desirable mates in New York City, they naïvely assume that the quest for Mr. or Ms. Right ends after you have found true love. Little do they know that it is doubly difficult to create chemistry among four people-not to mention coordinating work and gym schedules. Once you add kids to the equation, the odds of finding compatible companionship with another couple plummet.

It seems we are not alone in our quest to hook up with another nauseatingly happy couple. "You find a mate that mirrors you on some level, and then you look to do the same with friends," said Jennifer Elsner, a graphic designer in her mid-30's who lives with her husband, David Shields, and their baby son in Park Slope. They are looking for like-minded pairs to join them on jaunts to the food co-op. "It's about forming a community."

For the lucky few, finding their double-dating doppelgängers comes easily. When Matt and Stephanie Baumoel met Jen and Brad Kern on a ski trip to Vermont in the late 90's, for instance, they knew they were destined to be friends. "It was an instant click. Both of us were like, 'Ooh, they're kind of cool. We like them.' It didn't hurt that they had a house in the Hamptons and a car," said Mr. Baumoel, a senior publicist for Thirteen/WNET.

Of course, the obvious difference between finding a couple to "date" and finding an individual to date is that physical attraction isn't a requirement for friendship, although it does help to keep things exciting (remember Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice ?). We all know married couples who seek outside companionship primarily to rejuvenate their own sparks. Tired of trading the same information about work, family and friends, these bored couples feed on new blood with fresh stories to tell.

"When you're dating romantically, there's that great moment when you first meet somebody and you click and you're totally in sync. The same thing totally happens with couple friends when you go out to dinner and it just clicks. And, of course, it doesn't hurt when it's four bottles of wine later and you think everybody is hilarious," said Brent Poer, a Lifetime executive who, along with his former partner Christopher Cormier, advertising beauty director at Marie Claire , used to go steady with Jake Deutche, an emergency-room physician, and Joey Guintoli, who works in fashion, when they were together.

Inspired by the success stories of couples who have committed to a steady double date, we haven't given up hope that we too will find our special pair. Just as the Flintstones relied on the Rubbles and the Ricardos turned to the Mertzes, we are looking for a couple to serve as the supporting cast of our lives.

We find ourselves fantasizing about our dream couple. We're not too picky, but it would help if they were good-looking-but not too good-looking. They should earn enough money that they can afford to join us on our rare night out on the town, but not be so high-powered that they look down their noses at our Old Navy–infused wardrobes. While it's not a requirement, it would be a plus if they had glamorous jobs that prompted provocative conversation and if they lived within walking distance. Ideally, they would have a toddler who could amuse our 22-month-old daughter for hours on end.

But it's not so simple. Courting another couple and seeking their approval can be as anxiety-producing and, ultimately, as disappointing as a date who promises to call and never does. After Friends ' Chandler and Monica developed a crush on another couple while on their honeymoon, they were left to ponder what they did wrong when the couple ditched them by slipping them a fake phone number. We're now finding ourselves in the same position of assessing our flaws. "Were we too forward?" I asked my husband after one coffee date with another couple. "Do you think they'll call us?"

"I wouldn't wait by the phone," he replied.

To be honest, neither my husband nor I had ever quite mastered the singles dating scene (we met on a blind date after many years of bad dates), and now we suddenly find ourselves thrust back into the world of uncertainty and self-doubt that we naïvely thought we'd left behind. Why would anyone want to date us, anyway? Are my husband's OshKosh overalls keeping potential dates at bay? Do I talk too much about potty-training?

We recently chatted up an affable couple who met all of our requirements-and, as an added bonus, were co-owners of a trendy restaurant -but when we tried to book a get-together, they couldn't find room for us in their busy social calendars until next spring. There was another couple we bonded with while pushing our children on the swings at the Union Square playground, but any hopes of forming a fabulous foursome were quashed when our daughter brained their son with a toy truck. (It's amazing how quickly a little spilled blood can get in the way of a meaningful relationship.)

Then there are those awkward occasions when you hit it off with someone only to discover that your spouses can't stand each other. "There's nothing worse than being in a situation where you go out with a couple and you think they're fantastic and your partner looks at you and says, 'They suck. They're pompous. We had nothing in common,'" as Mr. Poer put it.

Just as we were starting to lose hope that we'd ever find lasting happiness with another couple, things have begun to look up for us on the dating front. Last week, we abandoned the singles-centric East Village for the happy couples' haven of Park Slope, where, as luck would have it, we have settled around the corner from Ms. Elsner and Mr. Shields. They invited us to a New Year's Day party where we turned on the charm. It seemed to do the trick. We gave them our number, and we're optimistic that they'll call.

But just in case they don't, we've already scheduled brunch with another couple for next weekend (we're playing the field). The wife and I met at a breast-feeding support group and became fast friends by gossiping about the other moms. Her daughter doesn't seem to mind it when our daughter occasionally whacks her on the head, and our husbands bonded over their mutual interest in imported beers, Russian literature and community gardens. If things continue to go smoothly, we might get lucky and this could turn into a steady thing. Now if we can just talk them into buying a country house.

One day this spring, as I was struggling to convince my 1-year-old baby girl Jesse to sit inherstroller,aneighbor stopped to interrogate me. "Do you think the baby is warm enough? Where's her hat?"

"What are you, the hat police?" I snarled as my daughter arched her back angrily. It hit me suddenly: Why did I need to justify myself to a single middle-aged man who has no experience with children?

Perhaps it's because I've always been one of those people who devote too much energy to caring about what other people think of me. Now that I'm a first-time mother, I want the world to know that I'm competent at my new job. And it seems that everyone from the waitress at the local Polish restaurant to the lady who runs the Laundromat across the street is judging my performance.

While I'm usually a rather affable person, my patience, as well as my confidence, has been whittled away as neighbors, friends and total strangers continually question my mothering abilities. They won't stop to help me as I struggle to carry a stroller up the subway steps or try to balance a toddler and a bag full of groceries, but they don't hesitate to tell me what I'm doing wrong at any given moment.

For one thing, New Yorkers seem to be fixated on the idea that, regardless of the weather, all babies must wear hats. Fellow moms and I joke that nobody will make a peep if you're smacking your children around in public, but don't put a hat on your kid and you're risking arrest.

I once had a homeless man call out to me as he pushed a shopping cart filled with soda cans and beer bottles, "That baby needs a hat!" Thanks, mister.

I smiled wanly and continued strolling. What choice did I have? The close quarters of urban life make this city ripe territory for speaking one's mind. In fact, I have always preferred the unapologetic bluster of New York to the hushed behind-door gossip of suburban Westchester, where I was raised. But now that I'm faced with a constant onslaught of unwanted criticism, I occasionally find myself pining for the strained etiquette of the suburbs.

It's simply a question of proximity. Whereas babies in suburbia are chauffeured from pre-school to playground to fast-food restaurant in minivans, here they ride the same buses, eat in the same restaurants and stroll on the same sidewalks as everyone else. In the isolated culture of suburbia, people without kids rarely have an opportunity to observe mothers interacting with their children. Here, they watch. And they heckle.

With the baby boom in New York showing no signs of slowing, most non-parents now have at least one friend or relative who has a baby. Having been acquainted with a newborn, these non-parents now feel they are experts on the subject and, as such, have the right to tell other people how to handle their children. Understandably, they feel even more compelled to share their child-rearing wisdom when faced with a crying baby who seems to be pleading for help.

During her first few months of life, my daughter experienced nasty bouts of colic where she would scream inconsolably for hours. Not even the most learned pediatricians seem to be able to define what colic is, but they all agree that it's extremely unpleasant. In our most fatigued moments, my husband and I confessed our biggest fear to each other: We had spawned the demon seed.

In desperate attempts to soothe our wild beast, my husband or I would strap her in a Baby Bjorn and roam the streets of the East Village-sometimes into the wee hours. Inevitably, well-meaning strangers-whose ranks often included vagrants and stoned clubgoers stumbling home after an ecstasy-fueled night-would call out suggestions and criticisms: "Maybe she's hungry," "I think she's tired" or "What's that baby doing out so late?"

"Thanks for your concern" I muttered through gritted teeth. And I had always thought that motherhood was going to make me a more patient and accepting person.

In fact, as a group, mothers are among the most judgmental folks to cross my stroller path. Where is that utopian community of women I envisioned sharing maternal wisdom and supporting each other through long sleepless nights, diaper rash and the terrible twos?

What I've found in its place is a disjointed group of people who form high-school-style cliques based on their parenting styles. The breast-feeding, stay-at-home moms in one corner of the playground and the bottle-feeding, working moms (or more likely, nannies in their place) in the other.

Among moms and non-moms alike, the hat issue seems downright insignificant compared to the hot-button topic of breast-feeding, where, it seems, everyone is an expert. Following those news reports a few years back about how breast-feeding can raise children's I.Q.'s, boost their immune systems, help prevent breast cancer and, one might assume, promote peace in the Middle East, strangers now feel it is their civic duty to ensure that I am breast-feeding.

In addition to inquiring about my baby's age and name, people now think it is perfectly O.K. to ask me if I am breast-feeding. Sure, nursing is a natural thing to do, but so is sex, and strangers aren't stopping me on the street to ask if I got any last night.

Of course, breast-feeding moms suffer their own indignities.Inevitably, when I breast-fed my daughter in public, a gaggle of concerned citizens glared at me or shook their heads in disapproval. "How long are you going to breast-feed her for?" one older woman inquired, clearly worried that I was going to be nursing my daughter into her high-school years.

Breast-feed,don't breast-feed. Hat on, sweater off. Feed her, carry her, put her down. I walk the streets dodging a hail of suggestions. Perhaps I should give up trying to please these concerned strangers-especially since it seems there's no way I can win, except maybe by keeping Jesse permanently protected by a hat-or permanently indoors.

When I recently complained about the barrage of critical comments I get on a daily basis, another mother reassured me that it gets easier with time. As my daughter gets older, she said, strangers will no longer question my parenting decisions. I guess they figure that if I haven't killed her by the time she hits adolescence, I must be doing something right.