I thought the kidney infections, the food regulations, the puking, the unending nausea, the back pain... I thought that was the worst of it. That once we had the wriggly bundle of joy that there would be challenges, of course, but nothing so uncomprehendingly, mind-numbingly bad as parts of my pregnancy.

And then, then I met Gymbo. Gymbo the evil, song singing, brightly colored clown. Click below for more of the madness.

The fact is, we don't have friends here our age with small sprog, and so when it comes to meeting other parents of wee ones, plus socializing the kid, we have to seek it out. And that means either a church-based playgroup (nooooooo!) or Gymboree in the summer. Gymboree it is.

We've been to two sessions now; one on Saturday with all 3 of us, and just me and the snark yesterday. Saturday was bad, but not too bad. There were some dads there. The group was split about 70-30 into those who care and wear ralph lauren and their moppets are in darling outfits from talbots kids and the moms, by some mysterious superpower, have perfect manicures and then there are those who look like they just stepped out of a cuisinart. Me? I'm in the latter camp. My basic operating principle these days is if you cannot tell he drooled on me within the past hour, it's clean enough to wear in public.

He's in the 'gymbabies!' class, for 0-6 month olds. There was a 6 month old, two 5 and a half month olds, and then assorted 2-4 month olds. Sean was as big as one of the five and a half monthers, and could crush any of the other children in the 2-4 month camp. He's so huge that one mom started offering me helpful tips on how to encourage him to sit up unaided since he 'really ought to be making an effort by this point' and I responded, stunned, 'By 11 weeks?'. At that she stared at him, goggle-eyed, and then clutched her baby protectively to herself, as if Sean might wake up, decide he was a bit peckish, and eat it in one giant happy mouthful.

Then the real fun began. It turns out gymboree, for babies, consists of cult-like indoctrination to the point where one can chant in a state of total sleep deprivation a series of insipid inane songs rewritten to be developmentally advantageous for babies and promote the gymboree brand. Needless to say, the Lad gave me a look of 'you've got to be shitting me' and then was horrified when I somehow- I really don't know how- knew some of the words (and not to the posted ones). There's also parent 'sharing time' at these things, and Saturday's topic was travel. One woman was bemoaning how her husband was insisting, if she refused to fly to vacation, that he wasn't going to drive a mere car, they'd rent an RV, and how is she supposed to secure an infant seat? Before I could stop myself I said, 'Duct tape', and I think the only thing that saved me from being hucked from the class was that the dad to my right said the same thing three seconds after I did.

Too bad yesterday's class was all moms, half of whom were friends/cousins/sisters/all residents of stepford. And these were all women who buy into the every moment is precious and beautiful. So during sharing time, which was about photography and what's your fave picture of your baby, mine of Sean's baptism where the light breaks through the windows and casts everything blue so it looks like an alien abduction did not go over well.

The other bad part of gymboree- aside from the saccharine, the indoctrination, and the sappy ass songs- is the theming. It's themed around Gymbo the Clown. The instructor does all the exercises on Gymbo the clown, to demonstrate what you should do to your baby (and let me tell you, during the infant massage things? It looks hilariously salacious and wrong). At the end we're all given gymbo hand puppets to interact with our babies with. Who thought this was a good idea? I mean, aren't clowns scary as all get out to a significant part of the population? The Lad and I both haaaate clowns, like serious mad hate on for them. And I know such things are learned, but there are just some things which kids don't like- and if Sean is giving any indication, having colorful fabric waved above his head, in the parachute game yesterday, is a big no, as he stared at it in horror as if to say 'Bad acid trip, mom! Bad acid trip!'. Wouldn't it make sense that some kids would just naturally hate maniacally grinning brightly face painted freaks in weird outfits and singing bad songs?

Turns out Sean's our kid. Yesterday he puked on Gymbo. That's my boy!