It wasn’t until my final laps that I became aware of my failing mommy marathoning and consciously decided to remove myself from the medalist’s mound. Ever since my liberating self-defeat I have found myself cheering on the stumbling, novice racers I once eyed with envy, with the lens of a sympathetic spectator, as they fiercely fight and fumble for a fictional finish-line, that exists only in the virtual world of Etsy and Pinterest. So when I routinely became audience to yet another race to nowhere at a recent baby battleground (a.k.a. Mommy and Me Gymnastics), I settled into the sweet and subtle shakedown of mommy mixed martial arts I have come to expect (i.e. handmade hair-bow throw down, My Baby Can Read…and kick your baby’s butt, and other first time mama favorites), while trying to simply corral my three wild beasts, far removed from the racetracks. What I didn’t expect was my late entry submission into the showdown and my 1-2-3 (kids) underdog sucker punch. Here are the transcripts from the event:
Opening Scene: Babies in a Ball Pit
The First Racer Leaves the Gate: “Sophie, SOPHIE! (disrupting play) Can you hand me the RED ball? RED! No, RRR-EEE-DDD!” (Racer stumbles and loses the lead) “No, Sophie. That’s orange.” (Smiles at the remaining racers and attempts to dismiss her defensive wounds to the competition) “She knows red. I don’t know why she handed me this.” (Sophie smiles. Mommy doesn’t.)
Enter Our Second Runner: “Ally. ALLY. Where’s the blue ball? Can you hand me the BLUE ball?” (Runner gloats, as oblivious Ally accidentally aims for the blue and Mommy grabs for the gold) “How old is your sweet little Sophie?” (Translation: Would you like my tiny super genius to tutor your color idiot?)
First Racer Slows to a Crawl: “29 Months.” (Translation: This is my first kid and I still have the time and consciousness to track my tike to the minute, I mean month.)
Runner Knocks Down Remaining Opposing Efforts: “Oh! Ally’s <implied “only”> 27 months.” (Translation: I’d say I was sorry for your loser baby, but I’m having way too much fun enjoying my self-appointed throne as the Queen of the Ball Pit.)
Enter Unexpected Underdogs: (Unaware of the underground battle ensuing among the balls, my Mia Joy, adorned in 13 clashing barrettes, as she insisted on doing her own hair, and wearing an unlikely champion’s uniform of well-loved hand-me-downs, unintentionally throws herself into the race.) “Wesley. We’re leprechauns, okay? Let’s make a rainbow. Give me the red.” (The unaware underdog agrees to the terms and hands off the rosy baton and goes for another.) “This orange, Mia.” (This cruel, underhanded racing tactic, known as “free play”, continues to unfold until these two ruthless racers have demonstrated their radical retention of an entire rainbow, a full spectrum of colored battle batons.)
The Once Leading Racer: (Silenced by the shocking potential of playtime as a training technique, she stumbles to find the words.) “Wow! How old is he?” (I pause for a moment. Not for dramatic effect, but because he is my third, and I did not want to appear negligent in the eyes of a first timer by stating, “I don’t know. Somewhere between 1 and 2…maybe?”) So I take a moment, do the math, and cautiously admit, “21 months.” To which the sore silver medalist states, “And he knows ALL of his colors? How did you do that?” Another unintentional dramatic pause (as I try to figure out a way to admit my coaching failure, as this is my first realization that he even had the potential to become a color medalist and I am not quite sure who the real coach even is), when the true tiny trainer (my Mia, my Joy) steps forward and sasses, “What??? We’re just making a rainbow lady.”
AND WE HAVE A WINNER FOLKS!
Looking to train your own tiny team? Here are some life lessons I had to fail triumphantly (Related Note: I apologize to the elder 2/3, also known as my guinea pig kids) before embracing the path less followed…WINNER’S ROW!
Top Training Tips:
Lesson 1: Just let them play! It’s a ball pit, not a battlefield.
Lesson 2: Just let them play! If you really need a mini medalist, it is time you learned my secret to success…NEGLECT (I mean, “autonomy”). It’s the breakfast of champions! (Which reminds me…I need to feed my kids breakfast. Crap!). Know that they WILL learn in spite of you (likely more so). I know very few colorless 58 month olds, but an abundance of freedom seeking players who cry at the thought of kinder. Where’s your finish-line?
Lesson 3: Just let them play! Even if you are raising a tiny Einstein, your kid will never reveal their genius to the masses. They will always make you look like a liar. Even if your Superbaby is making molecular hypotheses…the moment you make it a public performance, your mini mathematician will proclaim the answer to 2+2 is, in fact, Poo-Poo, with their counting finger strategically up their nose. They are the masters of mommy humility. Learn this lesson early, run from the race, and enjoy your secret successes, minus the mommy wars.
Lesson 4: Just let them play! If you’re in the race, you’ve already lost. Wave your white flag and build a rainbow.
Lesson 5: Just let them play! Don’t be a member of the mommy mixed martial arts movement, known for subtle stabs of superiority and sinister smiles. Get out of the race, remove your battle bib, and go pick up your prize. Your kiddos aren’t your entries, they are your gold. You’ve already won!