Party of Four

Sprout & Tumble - Cole

The play cafe was full of moms cradling newborns and sipping coffee while toddlers climbed on the wooden play-structure and babies crawled across the floor. Riley carried the two coffees back to the table. Mine was just a simple caramel latte while he opted for their brown sugar espresso with oat milk.

Poppy sat in my lap glaring at the pastel colored room like it was a personal offense to her.

“According to the GPS, it’ll take forty minutes to get there from here,” Riley sipped his drink while he plotted the route to Sprout & Tumble. “If we leave here in about an hour, we can get there early and get a spot near the entrance. I’ve read the reviews. Apparently the Saturday morning rush is no joke.”

“It’s a baby gym, Rye, not a mosh pit.” Though I had to admit, navigating the Kingsport traffic was a hell of a lot different than the two-lane roads that ran through the majority of Emerald Bay. The downtown area by the outlets and most of the restaurants, including Stella’s, was the only place that came even remotely close to mirroring Kingsport.

We didn’t stay at the cafe long anyways though. Every time we attempted to place Poppy on the faux grass carpet in the play area, she gave a loud, piercing, indignant shriek. She had no interest in the mini ball pit or playing with the other babies. So we called it early.

“Cole…” Riley started while I was strapping Poppy back into her carrier. He’d already slid into the driver’s seat of the Countryman. “Do you think our baby might be a snob?”

I looked down at Poppy in her little purple onesie and gray leggings. She’d already snatched her headband off and was chewing on the satin bow. “No,” I reassured him. “She’s just not used to stuff like that. We haven’t really taken her anywhere before now.” I shut the back door then climbed into the front seat. “All she knows is adults.”

“And one very pretentious cat,” Riley added, causing us both to snicker.

“Yes, I’m positive Venus’s ego has rubbed off on her.”

The skyline loomed over us, all glass and concrete as we navigated the roads. As we pulled onto Cypress Boulevard, the gray businesses gave way to palm tree lined sidewalks and cobblestone shopping centers. We had entered a more residential area, and from the looks of it, it was a wealthier side of town. We pulled into Sprout & Tumble, and the parking lot was already a sea of sleek SUVs and strollers that looked like they had better suspension than dad’s old Chevy.

We walked inside and the smell of industrial-strength lavender cleaner and expensive coffee hit me instantly. The place was a neon-colored explosion of soft mats, foam tunnels, and ball pits. And mothers. Dozens of them, all in perfectly coordinated lululemon outfits, looking like they were ready for a marathon instead of a play date.

“We are very outnumbered,” I whispered to Riley as we waited to sign in.

“Just keep your head down,” Riley whispered back, clutching the diaper bag.

We were instructed to only wear socks on the gym floor. Our shoes were stored safely in a cubby, and we were led to a circle where the four-to-six month class was getting ready to start. I sat on the blue foam mat feeling a bit like a giant in a dollhouse. Poppy, on the other hand, seemed much more excited about the rainbow-colored funhouse we’d found ourselves in than she had about the much calmer cafe we’d visited this morning. She sat between my legs, her eyes wide as she took in the other babies.

There were no toddlers running around or newborns crying. The foam mats were smooth in comparison to the shaggy rug that had covered the cafe’s play area. This was definitely more her cup of tea.

“Welcome, everyone!” a high energy woman named Miss Brenda announced, clapping her hands together. She wore knee-high rainbow, striped stockings, black leggings, and a bold blue tee shirt with the gym’s flower logo printed across the front of it. “I see some new faces. We’re so happy to have you today. We’re going to be focusing on Tummy Time Transitions, today. Let’s get our little ones on their bellies and encourage some reaching.”

Riley and I exchanged looks of horror as I laid Poppy on her stomach. If there was anything she hated more than a wet diaper, it was tummy time. She didn’t scream though. I breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed herself up onto her forearms to look around.

Beside us, a woman with a sleek ponytail and a Kingsport Wolves yoga mat looked over at us. “Is it your first time?” she asked. Her tone was friendly, but it carried that ‘expert’ undertone. “I haven’t seen you at the Tuesday sessions.”

“We’re just in from the gulf for the weekend,” I answered, curling my fingers as I caught her eyes tracing the tattoos on my knuckles.

“Oh! PCB?” she guessed “My husband and I have a beach house there.

“Emerald Bay, actually,” Riley chimed in, slowly waving a plastic ring in front of Poppy’s face in hopes that she’d reach for it.

“Oh. How… charming.”

The class was a blur of guided stretches, “bubble time” (which Poppy tried to eat), and a particularly harrowing moment where we had to sing a song about a “Funky Little Monkey” while performing a series of hand gestures. I caught Riley’s eye halfway through the third verse looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. We hung in there though for Poppy’s sake.

By the time we moved into the “Free Play” portion of the class, Poppy was exhausted, but happy, and fully engaged in a staring contest with a baby boy named Maverick.

“You handled the ‘Funky Monkey’ better than I expected,” I teased Riley as we sat next to an inflatable kiddie pool of colorful plastic balls.

“I have a reputation to uphold as the fun dad,” Riley replied.

“The fun dad?” I laughed. “Please. There’s no way you’re the fun one. Fun has to be just as much spontaneous as it is planned. You don’t have that balance.”

I looked around the room, watching the busy Kingsport moms and the high-end toys. It was a world away from the living room rug or Stella’s. It was loud, it was structured, and it was a little bit overwhelming. Then I looked at Poppy holding two of the balls in her hands while she babbled excitedly, and I felt that familiar, steady beat in my chest.

“She’s having a blast, Rye,” I said, finding her foot under the balls.

“She is,” he agreed, his expression softening.

“Maybe we should find a place like this in Emerald Bay? Or even PCB? What’s an hour drive for her?”