After 11 glorious months together, Ford and I have decided it’s time for us to see other people.
Don’t worry, I told him… it’s not him. It’s me. I love him, and I know he loves me, but we’ve reached a point in our relationship where it’s just healthy to branch out a bit. And if you must know, I’m starting to have serious issues with the fact that he prefers “Yo Gabba Gabba” to “The Real Housewives.” I’d like to see DJ Lance take NeNe Leakes on in a street fight. Then we’ll see who your hero is, Ford.
I had avoided putting ourselves out there up until now because we were getting by on going for walks with friends, running errands together, spending long afternoons stacking blocks, reading books, and dancing in the living room to 90’s hip hop. But there are only so many times you can try and get a 1-year old to mimic the hand signs of “2-Legit-2-Quit” before you want to jump out a window. Plus, in t-minus 16 weeks I’ll be back to newborn house arrest, sure to meet no new people for at least 2 months. This, due mainly to the fact that I will wear no real clothes. As Jake had to inform me last go-round, nursing nightgowns can NOT pass for long t-shirts if you pair them with yoga pants to run to Target real quick. Oops. So last week I bit the bullet and joined Gymboree. And I feel like the new girl who just transferred schools 3 months before the prom. I need a date. And I need it fast.
But it’s an odd place, this mommy-and-me playgroup world. I’m trying to figure it out as we go, and there seem to be some unspoken ground rules…
First of all, you meet each other through your kids. I committed the cardinal sin my first day of looking a fellow mom in the eye and asking her name. Imagine that. Without missing a beat this girl (woman/mom… whatever I’m supposed to call her) looked right at Ford and said, “My name’s Madison and this is my mom Jennifer. What’s your name?” I faltered for a minute before replying “Uh… this is Ford… I mean… um (wondering in my head if I should do a faux deep voice… I mean, my kid is a boy, after-all) I’m Ford and this is my mom Page.” And then I looked around hoping no one had noticed my dorky intro on the first day of class. But much to my surprise all I saw were other mom and baby foursomes carrying on conversations of similar ridiculousness.
Gymboree employee: “Hey Ethan, did your mom tell you it’s ‘Jungle Gym Day’ today?!”
Ethan’s mom: “No, but that’s one of my favorites. Mom’s been working with me on my balance and that should keep me heading in the right direction.”
Ethan then proceeded to tumble out of the inflatable tube he’d been jumping on/trying his best to completely immerse in drool, and inconsolably disintegrated into a pile of tears and snot. But can you blame him? If someone was always putting words in your mouth AND you totally bit it in front of your entire class, you’d be pissed too.
It took me awhile, but eventually I caught on and even kind of started having fun with the puppet-style talk everyone had going. At one point I found myself trying to think of a slick way for Ford to ask Emma for her mom’s number in case she ever wanted to meet for a walk at the park sometime. He looked up at me and I swear I heard myself say, “Mom, what did I tell you about playing hard to get?!”
And that’s when I knew it was time to go.
