I got a postcard in the mail advertising a free trail class at a local baby gym. I love free, especially when it comes with the added perk of interaction with other adults. So my daughter and I put on our gym shoes and headed out.
Upon entering we were asked to remove said shoes. Perhaps the postcard should have mentioned that shoes were not permitted, and that preferred attire was very tight skinny jeans and a perfectly flat stomach. The babies were skinny. The women who were 9 months pregnant had perfectly toned abs. And here I had chosen to wear flab, which is apparently so last season. Clearly baby fat is not the new black.
The postcard also failed to indicate that only beautiful, foreign mothers need attend. I may have been more likely to blend had I spoken in a French, Australian, or Israeli accent.
The teacher welcomed us, and told me that my child would likely be excited by the playground environment, but I should do my best to keep her focused on what the group was doing. They would be taking a video of her as she played so I could show everyone how much fun she had had and hopefully decide to pay for the expensive classes like all the pretty skinny foreign moms with expendable income (henceforth known as PSFMWEIs).
We walked in and my daughter promptly ignored everything that was going on on the big red mat where the teacher was engaging the skinny half-foreign babies in a cheerful hello song. My girl became singularly focused on climbing through a tunnel.
The group did parachute games, she climbed through the tunnel.
The group ran around while singing ABC’s, she climbed through the tunnel.
When my interest in the tunnel began to wane, I watched the group act out various roles in a princess vs. dragon story. The group leader took her role very seriously, really owning her part and convincing me that the high pitched, excited tone she used was actually her real voice. Odds are good that she enunciates like that even when talking to herself.
The PSFMWEIs were totally into her. I kept looking for a skinny-jeaned soul-mate in the bunch to roll my eyes with, but they were hanging on to her every word. Next she taught this group of under 2 year olds to arabesque. ‘Moms, hold your child’s stomach gently and help them extend their leg’. And the moms did it! Not an eye roll in the room.
Soon the toddlers of the PSFMWEIs were climbing on a rock wall made of letters. These small overachievers were shouting out the names of the letters as they climbed, while my daughter was trying desperately to wiggle her way under the wall, making it (wait for it…) a tunnel!
Meanwhile, the enthusiastic gym attendant was following us around with the video camera. The camera made me extremely self-conscious, so as it came near I found myself sucking in my stomach and saying ridiculous things like, ‘Great job, Sweetie, now spell Arabesque!’ in a Scottish/Pakistani accent.
As the class came to a close, the teacher gathered all the non-tunnel obsessed children on the red mat and assigned the PSFMWEIs a ‘Personal Take-Home Exploration’. The assignment was to read the same book to our children 7 days in a row. She told us to ask the kids questions about the plots and themes of the story and to really listen to their ideas.
The PSFMWEIs nodded to each, eager to get started on the project, but I was less intrigued. My daughter knows a lot of words, but most of them are cookie. I am fairly certain what she’ll say when I ask her ‘but what deep angst do you think the monkeys were trying to convey by repeatedly falling off the bed?’ (And can I please have the name of their pediatrician who personally answers her own phone after hours?)
Later that day I got an email from the gym. I opened the attached video and there was my baby girl, running around happily, climbing through the tunnel. There I was rolling a ball with her (I cannot even remember doing that, I think the video has been altered and her face was put on some other kid who lacked tunnel fixation. Would it have killed them to photoshop me into some skinny jeans while they were at it?). There we are cracking up together as we roll around on a mat.
And then I knew that I would inevitably be signing up for that class. I will probably even do the homework, I mean the personal take-home exploration. Yes, I will sign up, as soon as I can locate my abs of steel.
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