I’m not really into “mommy and me” things. They require the ability to suspend reality — to pretend that I don’t look completely ridiculous in front of a room full of strangers. Let’s just say I’m not there yet. However, a friend of mine invited me to check out the children’s music class she teaches. Turns out that my love of free things, plus the fact that my mom was going to be in town, was enough to get me to try it out with E.
When we showed up, we were required to take off our shoes. In my mind, I know that shoe removal in a room full of babies who are encouraged to crawl around all over the floor is the right and hygienic thing to do. But in my neurotic heart of hearts, I might have died a little. For reasons I can’t explain, I hate when I’m asked to remove my shoes when I enter a room. Maybe it’s the fact that my feet are perpetually cold and like to have an extra layer, maybe it’s my extreme dislike of most adult feet. Whatever my strange reasons, it definitely put my mind in the wrong space. But thankfully, I’ve become a pro at hiding my true anxiety-filled self, and I took my shoes off and strolled into the room with my baby like a boss.
While we waited for everyone to show up and class to begin, the babies all gathered ‘round a giant drum and hit it. It was some kind of super ridiculously cute baby drum circle. Watching the babies play at being hippies definitely helped me get over the fact that I wasn’t wearing shoes. However, next the teacher explained what the expectations were of the adults. “I’d like it if you all would sing and play along.”
Baby drum circle. Yes, those are fish pants.
Excuse me, what? Um, hi, my name is Tara. And I most certainly don’t sing and play along. This is the second part in our story where I had to check my anxiety at the door and remind myself I was here for my boy, not for me.
Speaking of E, this is about the time when his mind was blown. Everyone in the room started singing and clapping at the same and he was mesmerized. And perhaps a little confused. But overall, he seemed to be enjoying the sights and sounds of grown ass adults singing children’s songs in unison. I can’t say that I was singing, but I did try to clap or whatever without sweating noticeably. I think I succeeded.
And I must say, the people watching was pretty entertaining for me as well. Some of the parents were full on into it. In my head, I applauded them for their extreme humility. Others were more like me and pretended to “sing” and basically just did the clapping. I took notes on those ones, because we’d probably be friends. The babies, however, were the best part. For some, you could tell this was the best hour of their week. For others, it was like music was poison. One little girl spent the whole time trying to figure out how to open the door and get the hell out. She was the one in the Grateful Dead t-shirt, whose mom probably wanted to have some sort of rad, music-loving child, and instead got this one. It was amazing.
Anyway, here’s a recap of the next 30 minutes or so. Singing, clapping, dancing (Yes, dancing with your baby around other people dancing with their babies. Kill me.) and then finally a parachute. This is when things got a little sketchy for the Hubner clan. Remember the Grateful Dead baby? Well, the only part she decided was worth her time was when the teacher got out a parachute that the babies could sit under and have their minds blown by the psychedelic colors. This made her extremely excited.* I put E under the parachute, not knowing that all out chaos would ensue. I did my best to keep an eye on him, but between the swirling and singing, something happened under there. Maybe the colors were too much. Maybe Grateful Dead baby clobbered him. All I know is that he started bawling, and I pulled a sweet duck and swoop maneuver and rescued him — all without interrupting the song. One of the “clapping only” moms whispered, “Nice, move.” Two check marks for her on the we-could-maybe-be-friends mental list.
At the end, the teacher pulled out a guitar and sang a calm, cool down song. This is the part where I discovered the E might have a “type”. All the other babies kind of looked around and sort of kept playing — Elliott froze. He couldn’t take his eyes off that woman with the guitar. So, lookout singer-songwriters everywhere. My blue-eyed baby is coming after you.
Once the song was over, class was dismissed and my anxiety level dropped to almost nothing. Yes, because it was done, and also because E wouldn’t stop “talking.” It’s like he was saying, “Mom…mom…mom… did you see? They had instruments and were clapping and were playing guitar. IT WAS THE COOLEST THING EVER.” And that’s when I decided that despite the shoe removal, awkward adult jamming, and parachute mayhem, I would probably be coming back. Because, guess what? It’s not about me anymore. And who knows, maybe if I’m forced to sing in public enough times, I might actually end up liking it.
*See Grateful Dead, mom? Maybe she is cut from the same cloth just a little.
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