Jane at Northern Mum with Southern Children published this post on 22 Septemeber 2011...
Let me describe the room as I stood in the corner feeling decidedly awkward as I clutched a wriggling BB to my chest. To the front of me was a bag filed high with instruments of all varieties, tambourines,xylophones, drums, even recorders. To my right stood a bunch of mothers, upon first glance I would term them first time mothers. To my left stood the bounciest, smilest, most energetic person I have encountered in some time. Basically take Jane from Rod, Jane and Freddy, inject her with a class A drug and you should have an image. To most this kind of happiness is infectious; to me it is a little scary.
After sixteen months of having BB in my world I had brought her to her first music class.
She loved it, and I felt like a social outcast. Accustomed to four days a week in an office the sudden vibrancy of being in a church hall with a variety of babies caught me off guard and launched me overboard.
BB saw me for who I really am, a non lover of group nursery rhyme singing. Chirping through Wheels on the Bus with ten other ladies and their silent babies is (for me) as enjoyable as wiping poo from twin boy’s backside.
BB ditched me, she shot me a shamed look as I mixed up my dingle with my dangle on dingle dangle scarecrow and shuffled across the floor and perched herself firmly on the hugely energised teachers lap. Then I was alone…
What does one do in such a situation, either side of me women sang louder and louder, grabbing their children and rolling their arms and kicking their legs. Alone I sank into myself, should I sing? Should I throw myself with gay abandonment into Incy Wincy and do all the hand actions despite the obvious lack of child on my lap? Across the hall BB laughed at my discomfort as she bounced and whirled with her new best friend.
Desperate, I tried to coach her back with enticing beams and little waves. She waved back merrily and then lifted her arms and planted them around the teachers neck.
Incy wincy turned to the Grand Ole Duke and to my intense horror the class stood to march. I had a choice, either stand up and march or lay down and play dead on the battlefield.
I did it, I stood erect, threw myself into character and marched in a way any Sergeant Major would be proud of. The other mums clearly restricted by the babies on the hips had nothing on me. Whilst marching up the hill I saluted and when we went down I also did a couple of kung fu moves to scare off the enemy. And when we were only halfway up I let my face burn with embarrassment whilst trying to hide behind my imaginary gun.
It ended, I collapsed exhausted back on my knees as the strains of Twinkle began to play. I closed my eyes for a moment; then opened them as I felt hot breath on my face and a weight on my lap. Giving me a kiss of approval BB nestled back into my arms, telling me with silent eyes and smiling mouth that we would be back again next week...
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