Today I took 8 month old Little P to her first ever class. Not school, you douche, a music class. You know, tambouriney, singy, cringeworthy actions type class.
It’s taken this amount of time, because her older brother has been mainly occupying my time with his attention-seeking requests and my house-wifey/other motherly duties. Who am I kidding? I just haven’t taken her because I haven’t had the time OR inclination.
To be honest, she’s been mightily entertained by her 3 1/2 year old brother for her entire life – giggling from the bouncer, tracking him across the room, rolling around to try and get closer to bash him on the head. He’s been better entertainment for her than any old class so far.
But I had a pang of the second child guilt this morning, and vowed to take her somewhere while he was at pre-school.
My friend had mentioned a great drop-in music class, where the ladies (plural) have guitars and it’s a fun 40 minute session. When M was small and we lived in London, we were so keen we went to one of these when the NCT babies were too young to sit up (idiots – us! not the babies of course), so I was well up for a bit of live music. Whatever the quality. But these ladies were the bomb. They. Had. Radio Mics! And an amp. Wicked. I can get down with that.
Honestly, it was brilliant. Despite my musical theatre background (kind of!), I can get as cringed out as the next person with baby singing stuff. But they were fab, the songs were mainly original but seriously catchy, the banter between them was hilarious, the class was buzzy and the kids had an amazing time. There were people who’d been coming for years, and Little P was one of the youngest, but her eyes were huge with so much stimulation and knee bouncing and shaker shaking. She had the best nap afterwards too. Win!
Apart from the song about the boa-constrictor eating you up alive (well scary), there was nothing I didn’t love about this class. And for a fiver, I’ll be back there next week.