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Playgroup Power

1
When my son was born I was 21. I work in a very male dominated place and none of my friends had children then. My life before had centred around sports and partying. So to say I was lonely after the initial rush of visitors died down was a massive understatement.

The possibilities were endless though. Swimming lessons, singing classes, baby sign language, baby gymnastics, baby massage… There were just two issues.

Cost. I was on the tightest of budgets. Maternity leave would be cut short if I didn’t save sufficient funds.
I didn’t think I

SelfishMother.com
2
would belong, daft I know, but even in 2010 the ”unmarried young mother” stigma was alive and well. If only inside my own paranoid postpartum mind.

So we took to the park, walking around in the summer sunshine hoping to make these illusive ”Mammy Friends” there. It was pretty unsuccessful, largely because 6 week olds don’t care much for park equipment and because those Mam’s had their tribe. And that’s cool. I’d have to go find my own.

Wednesday baby clinic and I’m sat amongst all the other mothers, they chat with ease about kids and soap

SelfishMother.com
3
operas and school gate gossip. I won’t get far here either. This is not my time.

But pinned to the notice board was the most simple of posters:
”Playgroup…Come join us….Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 9am-11am…Chapel Hall…50p…all welcome”
50p I can do. And it says all welcome. I’m ”all”. And I can walk there. Sorted. I’ll go tomorrow.

The walk there was awful. Like the walk to a new school or a job interview. I wasn’t sure what to expect or what to say.

As we shuffle in a dozen pairs of eyes lock onto us, a collection on

SelfishMother.com
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small children carry on around them and I stand frozen with a tiny baby sleeping on me. I want to run out and home.
”Hello I’m Barbara, come on in my darling, tea or coffee? I like that sling, it was all Welsh Shawls when I had mine…come on in now, I’m doing toast, I’ll pop two rounds in for you”
I can’t leave now. I have paid my 50p and I have tea and toast coming. Since the whole giving birth gig 6 weeks earlier I had a new found love and respect for tea and toast.

I sit and observe.

Small babies lay to the left on old but immaculate

SelfishMother.com
5
blankets, a collection of well loved yet pristine toys around them. Some roll and some crawl. In the middle older babies take wobbly steps leaning on push toys like drunks, while the toddlers make pretend dinners and race rocking horses. Despite the range of ages the mood is calm and the kids, unlike me, know their place here. I take my sleeping boy out and slowly parents come and chat.

Introductions are made, compliments given, they ask how I’m finding it all and they offer honest accounts of their own early days. They tell me another lady comes

SelfishMother.com
6
with a baby my age. I instantly hope she come today.

She will go on to become my first Mammy friend.
”Now here’s your tea and I put butter on the toast. Pass me that beautiful boy and eat it now while its hot”
Barbara holds my son and sings to him. All the while she talks with the other children at her feet, she takes a pretend cup of tea and declares it delicious, she listens to a duo of tiny boys sing a song just for her and she passes emergency wipes to a Mam with a sicky shoulder. All with calm and ease.

She knows every parent and child in

SelfishMother.com
7
this room. She knows how they take their tea, their favourite toy and preferred snack.

In the 6 years I have now been a patron of Barbara’s playgroup, I have seen her hold screaming babies so mothers could have a cry of their own and drink hot coffee. I’ve seen her distract tantruming toddlers while exhausted dads eat buttery toast.

I’ve seen her welcome babies, celebrate their birthdays with cake made just for them, then all too quickly wishing them good luck as those children go off to start school.

I have never seen her cross. Not

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once.

The local chapel gives the hall for free. Barbara is a volunteer, she gives two mornings of her week to us and for the cost of 50p provides tea, coffee, squash, toast, fruit and most importantly, she gives us a place where we can make friends. Create our support systems.

She is a surrogate mother and grandmother to many.

Right across this country there is an army of volunteers just like Barbara. Who give their time week in and week out, year on year. They support new parents to stay sane and help our children’s thrive.

Aren’t they

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9
amazing?

They are superheroes with cardigan capes – I don’t know where I’d be without playgroup power!!

Thank you Barbara x

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By

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- 20 Mar 16

When my son was born I was 21. I work in a very male dominated place and none of my friends had children then. My life before had centred around sports and partying. So to say I was lonely after the initial rush of visitors died down was a massive understatement.

The possibilities were endless though. Swimming lessons, singing classes, baby sign language, baby gymnastics, baby massage… There were just two issues.

  1. Cost. I was on the tightest of budgets. Maternity leave would be cut short if I didn’t save sufficient funds.
  2. I didn’t think I would belong, daft I know, but even in 2010 the “unmarried young mother” stigma was alive and well. If only inside my own paranoid postpartum mind.

So we took to the park, walking around in the summer sunshine hoping to make these illusive “Mammy Friends” there. It was pretty unsuccessful, largely because 6 week olds don’t care much for park equipment and because those Mam’s had their tribe. And that’s cool. I’d have to go find my own.

Wednesday baby clinic and I’m sat amongst all the other mothers, they chat with ease about kids and soap operas and school gate gossip. I won’t get far here either. This is not my time.

But pinned to the notice board was the most simple of posters:

“Playgroup…Come join us….Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 9am-11am…Chapel Hall…50p…all welcome”

50p I can do. And it says all welcome. I’m “all”. And I can walk there. Sorted. I’ll go tomorrow.

The walk there was awful. Like the walk to a new school or a job interview. I wasn’t sure what to expect or what to say.

As we shuffle in a dozen pairs of eyes lock onto us, a collection on small children carry on around them and I stand frozen with a tiny baby sleeping on me. I want to run out and home.

“Hello I’m Barbara, come on in my darling, tea or coffee? I like that sling, it was all Welsh Shawls when I had mine…come on in now, I’m doing toast, I’ll pop two rounds in for you”

I can’t leave now. I have paid my 50p and I have tea and toast coming. Since the whole giving birth gig 6 weeks earlier I had a new found love and respect for tea and toast.

I sit and observe.

Small babies lay to the left on old but immaculate blankets, a collection of well loved yet pristine toys around them. Some roll and some crawl. In the middle older babies take wobbly steps leaning on push toys like drunks, while the toddlers make pretend dinners and race rocking horses. Despite the range of ages the mood is calm and the kids, unlike me, know their place here. I take my sleeping boy out and slowly parents come and chat.

Introductions are made, compliments given, they ask how I’m finding it all and they offer honest accounts of their own early days. They tell me another lady comes with a baby my age. I instantly hope she come today.

She will go on to become my first Mammy friend.

“Now here’s your tea and I put butter on the toast. Pass me that beautiful boy and eat it now while its hot”

Barbara holds my son and sings to him. All the while she talks with the other children at her feet, she takes a pretend cup of tea and declares it delicious, she listens to a duo of tiny boys sing a song just for her and she passes emergency wipes to a Mam with a sicky shoulder. All with calm and ease.

She knows every parent and child in this room. She knows how they take their tea, their favourite toy and preferred snack.

In the 6 years I have now been a patron of Barbara’s playgroup, I have seen her hold screaming babies so mothers could have a cry of their own and drink hot coffee. I’ve seen her distract tantruming toddlers while exhausted dads eat buttery toast.

I’ve seen her welcome babies, celebrate their birthdays with cake made just for them, then all too quickly wishing them good luck as those children go off to start school.

I have never seen her cross. Not once.

The local chapel gives the hall for free. Barbara is a volunteer, she gives two mornings of her week to us and for the cost of 50p provides tea, coffee, squash, toast, fruit and most importantly, she gives us a place where we can make friends. Create our support systems.

She is a surrogate mother and grandmother to many.

Right across this country there is an army of volunteers just like Barbara. Who give their time week in and week out, year on year. They support new parents to stay sane and help our children’s thrive.

Aren’t they amazing?

They are superheroes with cardigan capes – I don’t know where I’d be without playgroup power!!

Thank you Barbara x

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Mother of two. Wife of one. Other titles include firefighter, cheese lover, outdoorsy, chatty and annoying.

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