So, I am in a play group.
You should know that said play group is run by a good friend of mine, so joining it didn’t take much guts.
You may be thinking that joining any play group shouldn’t require guts.
You probably think that because you are normal.
But I was thinking that although a play group sounded fun — hanging with Tom in our house (or at Starbucks), doing our thing (going to Starbucks), running our errands (Starbucks gift cards, anyone?), on our schedule (we can go to Starbucks anytime!) seemed fun too.
Okay, fine. New people sometimes scare me.
What if these play group moms were total freaks?
My good friend said to me, “You should join my play group.”
And because we’re good friends and I don’t think she is a freak — I joined.
Yesterday, Tom and I attended a music class/play time combo with the group.
Tom thought the gym was won-der-ful.
By “thought the gym was won-der-ful” I mean “Tom immediately began flailing about to get out of my arms.”
There was no talking with other moms.
There wasn’t even a thought of introducing myself to other moms.
I was just following Tom around and making sure he didn’t plunge head-first into a balancing beam.
Then the actual class started.
Tom thought music time was dullsville, so he spent that 45 minutes crawling around like a maniac while all the other babies calmly sat in their mothers’ laps and sang along. Which means I spent that 45 minutes chasing my maniac.
Standing up and running around in the back of the class.
After music was play time, so I thought that’d be good because then Tom’s maniacal crawl would fit in and I could actually talk to the other play group moms.
Except Tom was so tired from his earlier crawling that by the time play time arrived, he was super clingy to his mama.
So we played together.
We tried out the trampoline together.
And the slide.
And some other thing I totally couldn’t figure out.
His absolute favorite thing to do in the huge gym with tons of toys was to bang his hands on the bench meant for parents to sit on.
And if any parents were sitting on it, I’m totally sure I could’ve started an awesome conversation about my crazy kid.
At one point Tom did attempt to play with a little girl, but she yelled at him.
So he came back to me.
Just me and Tom.
Off to the side.
In our black trench coats.*
*Okay, so we didn’t have black trench coats. But it was cold, so they would’ve been nice to have.