First up was the photo round ...
Self-explanatory really - snapshots were passed around, each with its own boastful description as the narrator had her ego fed with a constant stream of glowing compliments.
Thankfully, even the budding Anne Geddes brigade have their limits.
I should have made my excuses and left at that point but I have to admit to being a bit curious about what was to follow.
The achievement round ...
OMG, it was like being back at school - that "anything you can do, I can do better" scenario.
There was Tarquin, who at just nine months, was learning three languages and helped his daddy solve the cryptic crossword with his alphabet soup.
Next was Oscar, 11 months, two weeks, four days and seven hours, who, having listened to Mozart in the womb, was well on his way to penning his own symphony. He spent two hours a day on his Fisher Price keyboard, whether he wanted to or not.
And let's not forget Portia, a veteran at 13 months, who was "this close" to being discovered. She already had catalogue work, two TV adverts under her belt, had been through a couple of agents and enjoyed weekly spa visits with Mummy.
About now I was willing myself to fall victim to spontaneous human combustion, so I made my apologies, gathered the life forms and exited, stage left ... before the talent and fashion rounds could begin. It takes a lot to silence me, but mothers group succeeded where many have failed.
New mums have enough worry and expectation heaped on them without the added pressure of feeling they are in competition with others. Not one mention was made of sleepless nights, colic, post-natal depression or anything remotely negative. It was like a professionally staged event.
I have no doubt not all groups are as bad as the one I had the misfortune of attending, but it's a shame they exist at all, because it resulted in me being put off them altogether.
The real irony, however, is that, in this desperate need to "out-do" by having the best, brightest and most perfect of children, coupled with the validation of other mothers, these mums show themselves to be incredibly insecure. If it weren't so sad, it would be comical.
Now with the life forms nearly off my hands, I'm wondering if it's not too late to start a group of my own - one for mothers more like me. Keeping it real would be the only rule. We could meet weekly and bitch and moan about what a thankless bloody job it is. We could craft voodoo dolls of our kids and have stabbing sessions; throw darts at head shots pinned to the wall; and drink copious quantities of alcohol while we try to one-up one another to see who has the worst kids. Wouldn't that be a real and refreshing change - to not have to pretend, to know that other mums are struggling too and that it's not all picture perfect, no matter what designer brand you dress the kid in?
Wanganui, thankfully, has fantastic support for parents. I've had the pleasure of dealing with two of them - Family Support Services and Birthright, the latter being for sole-parent families.
At these wonderful places I have met mums who are as open and honest as me and I have also shared in more fun and laughter than I ever thought possible.
Isn't it funny where not being afraid to ask for help can lead you? Who knew I wasn't the only one dreaming of "offing" the kids? Dammit, I thought for a sec I was special.
Turns out I may even be normal ... now that is a scary thought.
Don't be too scared to email me though - as always, I welcome your feedback to investik8@gmail.com
Kate Stewart is an unemployed, reluctant mother of three, currently running amok in the city ... approach with caution or cheesecake.
