One and Done

This is totally a belated posting, but maybe better late than never.

Last week was our first ECFE (Early Childhood Family Education) class. I had heard good things about these classes (*ahem* Maya) so I was excited to go. Matt had a football game that night so I was going to be flying solo, but got over it.

I knew we were doomed before we even left, because we had to wake her up to leave. Bad. Always, always bad. I knew she would be hungry but figured she could last the five minutes it would take us to drive over there. When we got there I made the bottle and started to feed her as other people came in.

There were, as expected, an interesting mix. There was a couple with a five week old, and the husband was from Hungary and had a goofy accent. They looked somewhat awkward holding the baby and changing him, and I really hoped I didn't look like that when Bug was that little. There was another woman with a five week old and he was dressed exactly the same as the first five week old. They seemed incredibly, incredibly tiny. I asked the one, and hers was a pound less than Bug at birth, so maybe that's why, but I just don't remember Bug ever being that small.

Also in the room were an 8 month old, a 7 month old, a 10 month old, a 6 month old, an "almost 6 month old" and a 3 month old. I became most obsessed with the "almost 6 month old." How old is she then? Are you rounding up? Is she 5 months and 15 days old? Is she 6 months old tomorrow? Mostly I was concerned because it was clear that she could sit on her own, which we cannot do. I realize at the time we weren't even 5 months and one week, but still.

I finish feeding her and she instantly starts being a Reflux Baby. ARRRRGH. She hadn't done this in at least a week, and chooses now, in a very confined yet public setting, to do it again. She's arching her back and she's whining and she's grunting and she won't take her Nuk and I look Psychotic trying to shove it in her mouth. It is the beginning of the end.

Sitting down is not working for us. The "instructor" who is probably in her mid-sixties and just wants everyone to get along, reminds the group that it's OK if we need to get up and walk around with our babies. Except it's just me who needs to get up and walk around with her baby because everyone else is FINE. The almost 6 month old's mother stares at me for most of the evening and I can't tell if it's out of compassion or morbid fascination.

While I'm standing everyone is going around sharing if parenting has been harder or easier than we thought. Am I the only one who has found it unbelievably difficult? Even before we really got into all the crappy stuff, I found it really hard. So I pipe up that yes, it's been really hard, especially because we've been struggling with reflux and eating. I leave out the whole "hospitalization for potential seizure" part of things for now, thinking this is not the place.

Parents three, four and five wax poetic on how wonderful and amazing parenting is and I want to barf on my shoes. Parent six then blurts out that she almost died during birth, so it's been a little different than she expected. And that's it. That's all she says. Instructor prods her some more and she says something about being in the hospital for like two months after birth "instead of going home after three days." Instructor (I seriously do not remember her name) then says, "well you and your husband must have to think about things before having more" or something equally inappropriate and the woman sort of fingers her left ring finger (where there is no ring) mumbles something and says yeah, I don't know if I can even get pregnant again, so he and I are thinking we might have to adopt. I'm not convinced this woman has a husband (I think the term is "baby daddy"), which is totally fine, but Instructor does not realize that we are not in 1975 and it is permissable to have a baby outside wedlock because she mentions the word "husband" like three more times.

After more commenting, we are asked if anyone uses cloth diapers. Hungarian man and his very frumpy Jewish-looking wife (not that it matters, it's just an observational comment!) apparently do, as do the three month old's parents. Are these people insane? Probably.

Bug will NOT calm down and will not go to sleep, despite Lulu and blankie. We are officially The Fussy Kid. Ugh. I feel trapped. I subconsciously keep walking toward the door as if I'm going to leave and then I turn around to try and be part of the group again. The little bitties are sleeping, the almost six month old is sitting on her own again (seriously??) and the older kids are playing with the toys. It's time to sing songs and it's just the last thing I want to do. So I stand, swaying, staring, not making any sort of contributory noises. I feel like I'm in adult day care.

Next it's time for the magic sheet that has little bells sewn into it. It looks like it might be fun if we were on the floor but we're not. I decide that it looks like it hasn't been washed in at least five years and am happier that we're standing up.

It's approaching 7:00 (the class started at 6:00) and I'm thinking I'm just going to cut my losses and go home. Bug has not stopped whining and crying since we got there. I give up and try and sit back down. Instructor asks if she can take a picture of us because she wants to take a picture of all the babies at the beginning of the class. So I'm holding Bug up who is crying and I can't tell if I'm supposed to be in the picture or not because the camera is seriously like 12 inches from the right side of my face so I don't look at it and am just looking at Bug (who is crying) and then she moves on to the next family who holds their baby up next to their smiling faces. Great. I bet our photo is going to look fantastic.

As I go to put her in her car seat, of course, she shuts up immediately (I believe this was after Instructor told us how all our babies are becoming "bucket babies" because they're in their car seats so much. Bug does not spend a whole lot of time outside of traveling in her car seat, but I still felt like an ass as I just sat next to her on the floor with her in it). We were now going to do an art project where we do a footprint on a piece of paper. I was just about ready to leave when I decided that I would be sad if we didn't have a footprint. So I unbuckle her and take her over to have her foot stamped. She is calm now (I just give up) so we walk back over to our spot and I lay her down on the blanket. She has the wonkiest eyes, ever, which is so incredibly awesome x50. The woman next to me is very nice and tells me something about how her daughter had reflux too. I want to talk with her but I am so self conscious of my child whose eyes are rolling into the back of her head as she kicks her legs everywhere that I'm just barely able to maintain eye contact myself. I feel like I need to cover up Bug's face. I'm trying to get her to roll over so we don't look like such a wet noodle and she wants NONE of it. The almost six month old's mother is sort of staring at me before she takes her over-achiever over to the foot-tall play table so she can go play with the big kids. Jesus, will you listen to me? I should not be here.

Finally it's 7:15 and we were supposed to have left 15 minutes ago. Bug takes her phenobarb at 7:15 every night (and that's when bath time is) but an extra 5 minutes is not going to hurt anything. I am the first one to leave (class goes until 7:30) and everyone else's kid is still happy as a clam. Does no one else get The Fuss during primetime? When do you babies go to bed?! As I'm leaving I'm handed the Early Childhood Intervention handout which tells me all of the things my child is supposed to do by the day they turn 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, etc. Almost six month old's dad asks a relatively good question about how we are told there are all these "ranges" of normal, so how do we know when it's a problem that our kid can't do something? The Instructor says something about that's what these classes are good for so you can see other children and all I can think is no, that is what is wrong with these classes, because you will just endlessly compare yourself to all of the other children. Or maybe that's just me. I'm sensing a pattern.

I leave before I hear the answer.

We get home and get in our bath and our jammies and we are DEMANDING to be fed again, 90 minutes after our last (disastrous) bottle. I neglected to mention the spit-up that we got all over the blanket that I didn't even bother to wipe up because I'm sure the 87 kids who have also spit-up on it before us didn't, either. So we eat and then we fall asleep. And then Matt comes home a few hours later and I tell him we were the crying kid and I don't think we're going back.

I think our biggest issue is that the 6-7:30 timing is just asking for trouble. And the fact that I didn't want Instructor to hold our hands and lead us in story time. I just wanted to talk with other parents. I might have felt better if I didn't have to just observe everyone from afar (and I'm not just saying that because we stood the whole time). I am so desperate to know other people with kids the same age as Bug, and it was just really disappointing that it felt so overly structured. I can't even tell you anyone's names, because I only had five minutes to talk with my immediate neighbor. It's so expensive and eats into our bedtime (we were bathed, lotioned and asleep tonight by 7:40) that I'm not convinced it's worth it right now. Boo.

P.S. You bet your behind the very next day I emailed my day care provider and asked to make sure that she has seen Bug do everything on the "by the day your six months old" chart. We need to work on our imitation of noises other than our fake coughing. OOC.



Thank goodness Mommy can run, or else we'd be even more nuts.