Each Saturday morning, McK and I make our way to the gym. Along the route we talk about her buddy that will be there, the tumble track, and doing tick tock legs for warm up. It is a Mommy and Me class. My sister half jokingly called me a good mom when I told her we had signed up insert eye roll here. It’s that working mom guilt that made me do it. Tumbling was something we could do together. It would be fun. And although I can appreciate McK’s enthusiasm, running through a gym putting her on every piece of equipment for an hour straight wears this mama out. Just thinking about it makes me want to cancel.
But then I remember how much fun she has. Her little face lights up when we pull into the lot and she realizes we are at the big girl gym. You see, her two big cousins go there for gymnastics. And to go where the big girls go is so cool. So I drag myself out of the house into the cold car. We stop for coffee and hit the road.
She jumps and runs and balances until she is so tired, she falls over her own feet. The squeals of delight coming from her make it worth the headache of twenty-five 1-3 year olds experiencing equal delight in the same space.
The only real draw back of our Saturday morning routine is that my little one has learned how to climb…everything. She now climbs up even the counter height stools to help herself to whatever is on the table. Damn that class. One more spot to baby proof. At least she looks adorable with her pigtails in her little leotard and ruffle-butt shorts.