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I LOVE Ontario Early Years Centers. These are places where moms/dads/grandparents/imported-nannies-who-get-paid-terribly-but-seem-neat-o can take the kids in their care to play, sing, read, and interact with the world. They’re free, in the I-pay-taxes sort of way, and they typically have once- or twice-weekly programs specifically for kids younger than one. I shied away from them at first, mainly due to some circuitous and somewhat contradictory logic. The Beach, you see, is a rather wealthy neighbourhood. The moms I saw out and about were on their way to “Belly Bootcamp” exercise classes — to banish their already non-existent pregnancy tummies — pushing designer strollers worth more than my car and looking exquisite. These moms not only washed their hair, they styled it. They not only got out of their pajamas, they put on clean, matching clothes and accessorized. ACCESSORIZED! They wore makeup and had manicures and their children wore a brand new outfit every day. I did not wish to interact with these people. They would judge me; I would feel ashamed. Alice would feel my shame and turn to drugs, or cookies with preservatives. It just didn’t seem worth it. I also thought, however, that none of these moms would be at the OEYC, because (BECAUSE!) it is a free resource. Nay, if I went to the OEYC, I would be surrounded by the poor moms, the destitute moms whose sad babies desperately eyed Alice’s round tummy and stared wonderingly at my flat chest. We would talk about how the moms’ jobs — all three jobs, per mom — where they hide their babies down their pants to avoid paying for childcare and steal toilet paper from Wal-mart washrooms, and I would feel ashamed of our near-designer stroller and in-house laundry. Alice would feel my shame. Our choose-your-own-adventure story once again leads to drugs and Oreos. Egad.

Alas, at the urging of my treatment team, we finally went, and it was fabulous. The moms in The Beach OEYC were awesome — friendly and polite, accepting and funny, and our children exchanged cooties whilst alternately poking each other in the eyes and kissing. I learned that I was doing all right, mom-wise. I learned that Alice could benefit from a bit more time on her tummy, but that she was a pretty awesome sleeper. I had some coleslaw and life was good.

Today, Alice and I went to our new OEYC, in our new neighbourhood. The demographic here is decidedly less wealthy, but the programming at the OEYC was even better. A librarian from the Toronto Public Library came in and talked with us a bit about literacy, and we sang songs and read books together. Then, there was painting! With infants! It was messy and begged for generous artistic license, and an adorable little boy with long brown hair and unsure steps ate a lot of the blue paint (but it was okay, because Alice and I were SO done with the blue by then), and next week when I bathe Alice, I’m sure she’ll return to a mostly normal colour again.

And, most of the moms were friendly and polite, accepting and funny.

The exceptions to this rule were Lame Social Skills Mom and Queen Mama.

Me, to LSS Mom: Hi! This is Alice, and I’m Kim. <smile>

LSS: Oh. Hi. <awkward pause as she fails to introduce herself>

Me:  <smile> How old is… uh… your little one?

LSS: Five and a half months. <silence>

And then she took the toy Alice was playing with and gave it to her kid. I congratulated Alice on her great sharing skills, and found a way to move us to the other side of the play rug. If LSS was offended… uh, I don’t care.

And then there was Queen Mama. She was LOUD and very keen to share. She changed her daughter’s outfit three (THREE!) times during the hour we shared. She stared at me, horrified, when Alice spit up on herself and I proudly wiped at her face and shirt with an already semi-soiled bib hanging from our diaper bag, and left  her puke-stained shirt on. We heard about her crisis at home, as she has just discovered her baby has been sucking on her crib rails and thus will probably evaporate soon. And her baby wasn’t allowed to paint. And you know what? I’m so glad she was there. She reminded me that there are 1,000,000 ways to raise your baby, and they’re all right, if they’re done with love.

I can’t wait to go back.

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