Sweet Pea is a timid toddler. She needs time to warm up to new places and new children. She's much easier going with other adults, especially at the mall. Don't ask me why.. maybe it's the music. When she was about 14 months old, she walked right up to what looked like a linebacker for The Dallas Cowboys, sulking angrily outside the women's changing room. She placed her tiny hand upon his knee, and then she started dancing. Not a small dance, but a full-blown "YOU CAN DANCE IF YOU WANT TO, YOU CAN LEAVE YOUR FRIENDS BEHIND" dance. The man couldn't help himself. He broke into laughter.
I knew going into Gymboree that it was going to take some time for her to warm up to the idea. But I really had no idea what we were getting into. For the first 10 minutes, she just stood next to me, holding my hand and staring in disbelief as the children ran up this, slid down that, jumped off over here, crawled under there. I feel like the site could have been likened to animals escaping a zoo. She just held on and watched. It was not until a small child ran by carrying A Sacred Ball that she spoke up.
"Ball?"
I responded calmly, "Yes, he has a ball. That's so cool." Another child ran by with a ball, and I started to panic. We are going to have to find a ball.
"ANOTHER BALL?!" Sweet Pea was elated.
"Okay, let's go find a ball." It didn't take long before I spotted some hanging in the back. We plucked one off the jungle gym from which it was suspended. She was ecstatic. That's all she needed. Yep, folks, nothing more to see here.
Filled with the last breath of all the parents & toddlers trapped before you.
The whole place was kind of like standing in the middle of a tornado. We were just there... rolling a ball back and forth,while things screamed and ran by. It wasn't long before the eye of the storm dissolved into THE STORM OF THE CENTURY. It was every Mommy & Me pair for themselves.
Imagine: The Purge, Toddler Edition.
Look over there, that kids hanging upside down. Oops, while you were looking, that kid stole your ball. Don't worry, here's another kid bringing you a different ball. Oh, that's really nice, isn't it? Say, "Thank you!" Wait. Why is this ball wet? A kid slams into your back. The mom waves apologetically. You smile. No harm done. Wait, why is Sweet Pea on the ground? Here, I'll roll the ball to you, you roll the ball to me. Ugh, this is still the wet ball? You look around. Is anyone else concerned why this ball is wet?
Moms are everywhere, chatting with other moms, catching children by the back of their shirts to lower them gently on the padded floor. Don't jump off there, jump off here. Don't slide until that little boy has moved. Too late, there's a pile up of toddlers wailing, but the bottom one is just trying to re-load the slide. He's stuck... sliding in place on the mat. Where's Sweet Pea? Oh, she has 4 balls now. What's that on the floor next to her? A BANDAID? DON'T TOUCH THAT! LOOK, another BALL! A baby spits up on the floor. No one is looking. You try to call for assistance, but no one can hear you. Sweet Pea is running for a bucket of balls, you have no choice... you have to leave the puddle behind. Another kid slides through it. That mouth spit is officially everywhere. And Sweet Pea is carrying around the wet ball again. FOR CHRIST SAKE, WHY IS THAT BALL WET? Did you even bring hand wipes? That link on Facebook said that hand wipes can't even kill Enterovirus. Only good hand washing. Is there even a bathroom here? How many times do you have to wash your hands after this? Maybe you will both just take a shower. Maybe you need a bio-shower with a steel bristle brush.
Something cold touches your shoulder. There is a little one pulling up on you, but his hands are covered in something wet, slimy, and.... opaque. His mouth is agape and nearing your arm. This is it. Forget Enterovirus, the zombie plague has arrived. Your mind screams: YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE. YOU HAVE TO RUN FOR THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW. LOCK THE DOOR AND DO NOT OPEN IT EVER AGAIN. NO ONE IS SAFE! But Sweet Pea looks scared over there. The baby smiles as you slide away from him. You try to smile back. "Oh, he's so cute," you say to the exhausted mother as you choke back your own bile. The instructor yells that it's time to gather around the parachute. FINALLY! An exit plan! But, by the time you navigate the crowd, the parachute is covered in babies. That's it. You melt to the ground and desperately grasp the edge, smiling through clenched teeth, waiting for the wind to take you away. You dream of a simpler time... floating in the quiet peaceful waves of Kindermusik...
This post was not sponsored by Gymboree, Kindermusik, Enterovirus, or The Purge.
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