When my oldest was about two, she seemed to have an affinity for jumping on my couch. I thought that maybe a good way of getting her to channel that energy was to have a structured gymnastics class. This would help her develop some more disciplined coordination than bouncing on my furniture, and I also figured that a gymnastics class my save my couch from further pain (on this last point I was clearly wrong, especially after our second girl was born).
In any case, we have enjoyed going to our gymnastics place for about four years now, and I’m realizing that we only a have a few weeks left of the “mommy and me” classes for the little one; by September, she’ll be going in on her own. While I am excited to see how he does when there are no moms and dads and grandparents around in the gym (and how well she’ll listen to the teacher), there will be times when I will miss those days of sitting her in my lap and getting her to stretch her legs to “make pizzas.”
Take today, for example. The class age runs from about 18 months to 3 , and you never know who’s really going to pay attention and who’s not. The class begins with a little running around some specific obstacles. My little one was her usual independent self, doing some things and ignoring others, running around the little tunnel instead of through it (not so much out of fear, for I think she has none, but mostly because she just has her own drummer and listens to that beat). Little Ben was also his usual self, running everywhere in the gym EXCEPT where he was supposed to be. Young Julia, not even two, was still upset that the picture of a certain purple dinosaur was no longer on the back wall, and kept wanting to go to that spot, as if to see if somehow she could find it through the yellow paint that was there instead of her idol.
Anthony Jr. occasionally escaped to the trampoline. Ben’s grandfather would try and track his grandson down, too; as we passed each other in the gym he laughed, saying, “at least I do get to bring him home!” At circle time, my little one was not interested in making “butterflies” with her legs or lifting up her feet to “answer the phone.” Later on, Ali, one of the oldest in the class and probably the most experienced, had some kind of a meltdown. I didn’t see what happened, but she wailed for most of the last fifteen minutes of class. Little Julia, who was off an on crying, finally left before bubble time, having tested her mother’s patience once too often (been there and done that myself). Jack, too, had some problems and his mom left with him early. And as we did some floor exercises, there was very tiny Anna Marie, who can’t be more than 18 months, sitting there, listening, smiling, and pretty articulate, taking it all in. I was thinking, what a sweet little girl, so calm, and relaxed.
After bubble time, we walked across the balance beam the last time to get our stamps on her hands. There was some confusion as to what Anna Marie wanted, and when the teacher put on a “princess” stamp instead of Dora or Cookie Monster, the poor girl lost it and started bawling. My little one and I could still hear her crying even after we went to the bathroom and got ready to leave.
Like I was saying… I’ll miss those days…