It’s something that’s installed upon us as soon as we get our babies home. The second our feet cross the threshold the questions begin. “Have you been to any groups yet?” “What groups are you planning on joining?” “When are you going to start joining groups?”
It’s basically bludgeoned into us so much that we start to actually start questioning your ability to parent due to not going, so you hit google and decide that’s it: baby groups are filled with cliques and bullies, and you will never subject yourself or your child to this torture.
Then one day you’re at a loss; the baby wants to go out, your husband is working and all your friends are busy, so you decide to potter on down, hoping the big kids don’t steal your lunch money. But wait, this isn’t what Google told me; people are smiling, laughing, and before you know it you’re in the middle if a conversation like you’ve been there for years.
That’s nothing to the reaction of the baby. He will no doubt find the closest bit of mess/water and get stuck in, trying to eat the sand, trying to turn the floor into a mini lake, and squealing at other little people in an attempt of conversation.
Then there will be snack time, which will no doubt be some variation of fruit, water, and milk, and there is that magical feeling of peace, for about 2 seconds until they all inevitably get bored and start demanding song time NOW. Ahh, and the song time, is full with awkwardly mumbling along to nursery rhymes nobody has ever heard of, and hoping you don’t deafen anyone with your off-key screeching.
Then it’s that glorious moment; time to go home. The second you get home your baby falls asleep, having exhausted themselves in the mayhem (which you don’t even need to clean up) and realise that it can’t be too bad if it means you finally get to eat some lunch in peace.