I'm going to Hell: Reason #1

I dropped the F-bomb at a two-year-olds birthday party. It’s the God’s honest truth. But before you judge, let me explain.

So I’m sitting in the freaking “play circle” at Gymboree staring at the other parents in disbelief when Janie pipes up in my head. “WTF happened to my life?” I must have said it out loud because my good friend stopped shaking her “magic” maracas and gave me a knowing smile.

Now I love being a mom. I truly do. I could go on and on about all the glorious moments of motherhood, but this is not that kind of blog. I will save the sweet, eewy, gooey details for scrapbooks and dinner discussions with my grandma. This blog is the outlet for the downright wrong thoughts that enter my head on a daily basis. It is a place where I can purge the truth about what I really think. Thanks Janie for keeping it real.

Anyway, back to the birthday party. In case you aren’t a parent, Gymboree is a structured play class full of jungle gyms and activities that can hype up a toddler faster than a ten foot pixie stick. It is a popular venue to host a kiddie birthday party because you don’t have to clean your house- before or after. SWEET! So when my son got the invitation to this birthday party, I was pumped. When we arrived, I was ready, as suggested by the Gymboree party leader, to be an “involved parent”. Ha.

I take off my shoes and socks and enter through the munchkin gate. I am prepared to spot my kid while he defies gravity on the unsafe looking equipment. Oh no. That’s not what she meant by being an “involved parent.”

The party leader, who I later come to believe is on an acid trip, tells everyone to enter the “play circle” (looks like a parachute to me) for the opening ceremony. What in the world? Are we at the Olympics? With a lot of enthusiasm she instructs us to pick up the "happy bells” and ring them. Uh ok. Are we channeling elves?

Then Miss Weirdo starts with the gay songs. Now my son is totally into it, so I play along. I shoot a glare at my husband. Why does he get to sit in the other room with our infant while I am losing my dignity in the “play circle?” Catching my glare, that asshole laughs at me! If he takes a picture I am going to kill him.

Totally embarrassed, I ring the “happy bells” and look to the other parents for support. Merely remnants of the cool people they used to be, no one will make eye contact with me. I eye up this one dad. I imagine once upon a time, before he had kids, he would have been at BW3’s watching a game with his buddies. Now, he is this zombie of a man, clapping his hands like an idiot, while this psycho party leader starts dancing with a doll.

I fight the urge to flee; One, because my girlfriend paid an ungodly amount of money for this birthday party. Two, because my son is beaming with happiness. His huge blue eyes illuminated with delight.

A good mom would have resolved herself to the situation. Swallowed her pride and participated with passion. Not me. I dropped the F-bomb. At a two-year-olds birthday party. In the “play circle.”

When I stand in line at Heaven’s gate, I know this is going to bite me in the ass. But that’s okay. My son had a hell of a time and the good news- I think the magic maraca’s drowned out the F-bomb. At least MY son hasn’t repeated it yet.