It may or may not surprise you to know that I have mommy guilt. Actually, I have a lot of mommy guilt. It's usually about, well, whatever area that I feel I'm failing in on that particular day, and whichever child I feel has been short changed at that particular moment. That usually means I'm feeling guilty about several areas of life and at least two children on any given day.
Lately, B has been the focus of much of my mommy guilt. When N was small, she had me all to herself for three years. We went to play groups. We went to baby sign language classes. We went to a kids gym. We went to mommy and me swim classes. We went to mommy and me dance classes (if dancing to the Wiggles really counts as dancing). We went to mommy and me gymnastics classes at our Rec Center. (Fortunately, my role in this class was quite limited, as was our time in the class. Apparently, almost head butting the instructors daughter is highly frowned upon. I know-- almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades, right? That's what I thought. But apparently, it counts in gymnastics, too. And no, in case you're wondering, I was not the one who almost head butted her).
Eventually, N went to preschool, and the mommies were no longer welcome in the activities she did. (Of course, I'm still more than welcome to drive her there, and pay for it, and chase two boys around while she participates, but for some reason, once she turned three, my participation was no longer encouraged. But I'm not bitter. Anymore. Most of the time).
When B was a baby, we took one mommy and me swim class. N did not appreciate that she had to play in the shallow end while B and I played "Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall" (Huh. Not so fun to be left out, is it?). After six weeks of trying to be attentive to the baby I was holding and the four-year- old who was calling me from the other end of the pool, I gave up. Then we had O, and logistically and financially, our options became even more limited.
I looked into activities for B last year, and some of the classes N had taken just weren't available. They don't offer mommy and me gymnastics at the Rec Center anymore. Coincidence? I think not. Dancing to the Wiggles wasn't even an option. I took B and O to the library for a while, until it was becoming obvious that B was well over a year past the age cut off for the babies group. When the other parents started giving me dirty looks when he not only took their kids' toys, but rather articulately told them he wasn't giving them back, I thought we should probably stop going before we were kicked out. I mean, I've accepted that, at some point, he will be kicked out of something. But why rush it? I'm sure there will lots of other opportunities for that.
I thought he would start preschool last fall, but that whole "I'm wearing diapers until I'm thirty-five" attitude got in the way of that. A few months ago, I decided to try a free class at the kids' gym N had gone to. I told him that morning that we were going to play. It was going to be so much fun. There were all kinds of kids there. N even went there when she was little. As I excitedly looked at him and said "Doesn't that sound like fun?" He looked at me and said, quite clearly, "No."
I ignored the voice that told me this was not a good idea (Never ignore the voice), and he eventually got in the car, but only after he had gone back in the house to get a hat. The gym is only ten minutes away. Half an hour later, we finally walked through the door. Me, O, and B. B had finally agreed to get out of the car only if he could wear the hat. Which was actually Jimmy's adult sized ten-year-old baseball cap that said John Deere on it, and it looked every minute of its ten years.
After more coaxing, he agreed to leave the lobby and go into the gym. Where he stood behind me for most of the next thirty minutes. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't look at anyone. He had zero interest in the other kids, none of whom were wearing a cool, if way too big and disgustingly dirty, John Deere hat like his. At one point, he expressed vague interest in the ball pit, but when the instructor told him it was circle time and not ball pit time, he looked at me and said it was time to go. I thought he probably had a point.
Recently I started feeling guilty again that B has not been involved in nearly as many structured activities as N was at his age. And, since he will be starting preschool in the fall--diapers or no diapers-- he needs to get used to listening to someone besides me (not that you should take that to mean that he listens to me). So, today, I did something very brave, and took him to swim class. This was not a mommy and me swim class. This was all three-year-olds. I wasn't sure how it would go, but I knew that it was time we tried. I also knew that there was a large sign on the door to the pool that said "NO Parents on deck" which I thought might be a good thing, once he got past the initial adjustment to me not being there.
When B was still clinging to the door and stating "I am NOT going in that pool" five minutes after the class was supposed to start, they asked me to come sit on the deck. Apparently, they made an exception for us. I always knew we were exceptional.
So I sat on the side of the pool, in my sweats, getting soaked, and attempting to hold onto O, who unlike his brother, wanted nothing more than to get in that pool. B, meanwhile, just watched us from the deck before eventually agreeing to get his feet wet. Fortunately, no one else showed up for the class today, which allowed the instructor to spend the entire class focused on B. Good thing, since he would have had to do that anyway.
B eventually warmed up a little and went in up to his knees when the instructor, Mr. Cory, threw water toys to him. In fact, B quite eagerly threw them back. At Mr Cory's head. Repeatedly. I suggested to Mr. Cory that he may want to wear a helmet to their next class. Mr. Cory was a good sport, and encouraged B to walk into the pool to get the toys back. B looked at the toys, looked at Mr. Cory, smiled, and said "No, thanks. You can get them". They repeated this exchange several times, as O tried harder to alternately jump, wiggle, and swim out of my arms and into the pool.
I was beginning to wonder if there would be a point to us coming back next week, or if Mr Cory might suggest that we try something different--like sedatives--when, at the end of the class, B surprised all of us by walking right into the pool, all the way up to his waist.
It just took O throwing his shoes in the pool.
If only I'd known that sooner.
I would have brought a few extra pairs.
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