Most being the key word here. There are a scant few exceptions with particular family and friends. And only fewer know this. Em knows this. So when I read another blogger mom confessing this in a BlogHer email, I felt compelled to click and read the rest of the post. Let me tell you a bit about me first.
I was never a motherly type before I had kids of my own. You know how most women go gahgah over babies, especially newborns, and want to immediately hold them? I was the complete opposite. I thought babies were sometimes slightly cute but always gross, and definitely scary. I couldn’t understand why other women wanted to hold someone else’s drooling bundle. Whenever I was asked if I wanted to hold their baby, I would say, “Uhhh… no thanks. I’m serious. That’s okay. Maybe next time.”
Yeah, I babysat when I was a teen, and I was an awesome babysitter. I played with the kid, acted a little goofy, and even tidied up the parents’ home. The kids had to be completely (and I mean completely) potty-trained though. But we’ve all done things for money that we didn’t like, right? Wait… that sounded bad. You know what I mean.
When I got pregnant unexpectedly at 19, I was actually happy and excited. I fell utterly in love with this little stranger growing inside of me, that would eventually pop out as one of those squirming, drooling things that I normally didn’t want to touch. After my son was born, I was beside myself in tears whenever we were apart. I breast-fed for almost two years and loved kissing and snuggling him. Over the years, I have lovingly cleaned up his poop, pee, barf, and blood. I’m not going to lie and say it was all rainbows and happy bunnies. I was young and impatient and inexperienced. It was difficult. But he was (and still is) a good boy.
I had my oldest daughter 3 years later and fell equally in love. I still have a difficult time letting her out of my sight and being apart from her – and even my son, for that matter. Thirteen years after that, I had my second daughter. I still can’t get enough of her kisses and snuggling her. She’s the cutest thing! I love how her cheeks are so soft and smooshy when she first wakes up, perfect for kisses! Man, but I do pop out really cute kids.
Even after having 3 kids of my own, other people’s kids still make me uncomfortable. The kids that I don’t mind, and actually like for short periods of time, think that I hate them because even they still make me uncomfortable. I’m not one of those adults that can get excited and talk to kids. I’m serious and quiet most of the time and have a really dry sense of humor. Ask Em. Although kids (that aren’t mine) make me uncomfortable in a conversational capacity, I’m not afraid to speak up and tell them if they are acting inappropriately or being rude to my children. I don’t scold or yell or curse, unless they are extremely out of control; I just tell them in a matter-of-fact tone. I’ve had parents get defensive and huffy over this. Oh, well. It’s not like we’d become friends if their kid was a jerk.
Anyway, about this post I read yesterday. I saw myself in this mom, and the post looked like something that could have come from my fingertips, potty-mouth and all. Yes, dear readers, in person my mouth is as dirty as a sailor’s, especially when I’m driving.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did. I actually laughed out loud a few times. I have been (and am) this parent when dealing with unsupervised children.
As the only adult in a fifty-something foot radius, they immediately latch on to you like thirsty leeches in a blood drought, desperate for contact with some kind of authority figure who might give two craps about their lives.
“WATCH ME SWIM! I CAN DO A HANDSTAND!” And you smile indulgently and nod. Yes, yes, children, that’s all very nice. I, a random stranger, am impressed and amazed. Now please try not to die near me while I supervise the only one of you I actually care about.