In the spirit of eating my own dogfood, I invented a mama breakfast thingie. A few months ago, I invited a bunch of dangerous ladies and their babies to my house every other Thursday. They only person they had in common was me. I picked the day right after the cleaning person comes to minimize my prep. Then again, I try to remember that they’ll understand if the house and I are unkempt. It is probably also hard to judge the mess since I fill my living room with gear, swings, toys, and clean burp cloths.
We’ve welcomed babies as young as two weeks into our little circle. When we started three months ago, this little one behind Sawyer couldn’t attend because she was busy BEING BORN that day.
Most of my guests are moms of two or three enjoying a some extra baby time with their girl talk. I crave the camaraderie and discussion. The laughter. The coffee. The unmentionable topics are suddenly mentionable. I can’t tell you any more because what happens at baby club stays at baby club.
I originally envisioned a gathering with hearty breakfast choices and two kinds of coffee; I wanted to introduce my friends with babies to each other so I wouldn’t have to make all new friends. After the first session — when nobody even touched the food — I threw my expectations out the window. I’ve since opened it up to be more of an informal potluck. Saying in my reminder emails, “Bring food if you can. If not, no biggie, you just had a baby after all,” seems to do the trick and somebody usually steps up and brings a loaf of something tasty. One of my friends (Hi Alissa!) is my big hero who brings the coffee and stays for as long as she can before she hurries off to a work meeting.
Next week, I host baby club in my new home for the first time. I doubt there are enough toys and clean blankets to distract from the mess here now. I’m sure it will be perfect anyway.
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