Today, I joined a stroller club.
I don't know why, but it makes me feel a little like a cliche: the suburban mommy, traveling in a pack of other suburban mommies, each pushing a gigantic stroller with all their children in tow.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely loved it. Those ladies got me jogging when I haven't jogged in... I don't even know. Years. It was tough. It pushed me way beyond what I've been doing on my own. It even got me to a park I've never visited.
On the other hand, when I walked up, the two ladies who got there first were dishing about a six year old who is already wearing eight-year-old clothes and how her parents bought her a training bra because she has "fat boobies."
I kid you not.
I'm going to go back next week, for certain. The ladies I actually had a conversation with seemed extremely nice, and I loved the workout. But I have a feeling I'll need to be careful what I share, at least at first.
If reality television has taught us anything, it's that some housewives will eat you alive.
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