Adventures in Gymnastics

You know how right after you have a baby you are like there is no effing way on God's green Earth I am ever having another baby ever!!, and then after a few weeks of squirting your lady parts with a water bottle and a blast of Dermoplast every single time you pee, one jumbo sized package of maxi pads (which, you discover are now made super thin like diapers, but not before you have used a whole bag of the super thick pillow-like pads and you are filled with a white rage because why the hell are they still making super fat, uncomfortable maxi pads when there are super skinny ones that are just as effective), and two trips to the doctor later (once because you are certain you popped a stitch, because, seriously, it is not supposed to look like that, and once to hear that it is totally fine to have sex because it has been 6 magical weeks, but that it is also totally fine to tell your husband the doc said to wait 3 more weeks just to be safe wink wink, nudge nudge) you forget all the hell you went through and think to yourself I could totally have another baby.  THAT is how I felt about Chloe's first parent-tot gymnastics class.

I mean, I know it is mostly my fault for daydreaming about Chloe competing on the 2024 summer Olympic gymnastics team.  I might have set the standards pretty high.  Forgetting my child's personality completely, I for some reason envisioned Chloe following along with the coach step-for-step, taking every command seriously and executing each exercise with precision.  Forgetting that we would be stepping into a dreamland of trampolines, foam pits, and balancing beam thingies, I foolishly expected Chloe to stay within the confines of the "preschool" area.  In true Chloe fashion, she behaved like maniac from the minute we started warm-ups.  Check out this video evidence.  I would specifically like to point out the small child in the background who is following along like all of the other kids and Chloe's spectacular jump-flip at the very end of the video.

I'm not saying that I want Chloe to be submissive or shy or any less awesomely awesome.  I just would have appreciated if even one other kid would have acted like an asshole just once.  Instead, that teacher, Miss Lippy, would chime "criss-cross applesauce" and every single kid would drop to the floor and sit Indian-style.  In the meantime my kid was giving her the middle finger as she ran off to jump in a foam pit. 

At the end of the day Chloe loved her gymnastics class.  She wasn't afraid to do anything.  In fact, she wanted to do everything.  She did flips on the bars, attempted a cartwheel, jumped in foam pits, swung from a rope, whizzed down the balance beam, and just generally had maybe the best time of her life.  And even though I had to carry her literally kicking and screaming out the door I feel ready to do it again next week.

Chloe and the red balloon before she ripped it off of the string and sent it flying to the ceiling effectively crushing the hopes and dreams of the three remaining children in the class.

Next week I will adjust my expectations from Olympics to the basic act of listening.  Also, I will come prepared with a sports bra and full-on workout clothes to keep up with the maniac that is my daughter - my mini-me.