Today I brought my precious child to baby sensory class, where, on the instructions of the leader, I placed her arse first into a huge tray of spaghetti.
This is supposed to help develop their fine motor skills, and presumably has all sorts of other benefits, but still, there we were, staring at our babies sitting in this vat of cooked spaghetti, like a squad of slightly hairy meatballs.
Next week, apparently, it is cream. We've already had glittery oats, and raspberry scented flour and oil. Babies were bemused, but seemed to like these things.
We went to another group where we all sang songs about ridiculously stubborn spiders, as we waved the baby's arms around in the appropriate actions. Grown women, singing about spiders. Baby massage, where we are all instructed to solemnly anoint tiny flailing limbs with an assortment of oils.
This is all completely mad, isn't it? I absolutely love it. Maternity leave is like a study in surrealism