Every day we watched children's programs on Treehouse (some of those shows are really, really strange, but I guess kids love them), ate Freezies, played with toy cars, toy trucks, and toy trains, ran away and hid from monsters, listened to the alphabet song sung in rap style, and conquered the world!Among some of those adventures, P:
experimented with brushing his teeth all by himself,
explored the "forest," and
caught up on some reading (no, he's really not reading, but it was awfully cute to see him go through the motions).P and I often went for walks and on one of those walks one day we ventured out to the big street where he gladly waved to all the drivers in dump trucks. All the drivers actually saw P wave at them and they would either wave back or honk those loud horns. P loves those trucks and has a deep respect for them, especially when they are at work; he'll go near the empty stationary excavators (he calls them diggers) and backhoe loaders that are left by the workers after work, but he'll watch from a very safe distance when they are moving. We saw lots of trucks that day and our neighbourhood is the best place for them because of all the new developments happening around our area.
As the baby-sitter, I got a chance at motherhood for four short days. A few people who knew I was babysitting P last week asked if this encouraged me to become a mother. My answer: no. Actually, babysitting affirmed my decision not to have kids. Please don't read that wrong because P was an absolute delight to be with. What babysitting has done was once again remind me of all the hard work mothers and fathers put in for their kids each day. P was being a typical 2.5-year-old child and making 2.5-year-old messes and demands. Nothing wrong there, but I just don't want to deal with those messes and demands right now. Little things get to me that prove to me that I'm not ready to be a mom.
For example, I gave P some hard-boiled eggs to eat and he enjoyed eating them with his hands and kind of mushing up the egg yolks. I watched as the yolks crumble onto the carpet and before I knew it, he ran to me and slammed his yolk-encrusted hands onto my shirt, not to mention knocking the wind out of me in the process. He didn't do it to be mean, but he did it because he was just being a happy little kid, I think. I didn't get angry with him; instead I laughed because I knew that's what 2-year-olds do. Nevertheless, before his mom got home, I made sure that we vacuumed the place and tidied up everything that we messed up together each day.
I don't think I could do that every day. I'm too anal-retentive about some things and that wouldn't be fair to my kid. When I learn to let some things go, then that's when I'll know I'm ready to be a parent. Until then, I will enjoy being with kids as a teacher, godparent, church leader, and friendly neighbour.
1 comment:
Cool post!
Not being a parent myself, I don't know for certain, but I would guess that it's easier to clean up a mess (for example) if it's caused by your own child as opposed to your babysitting charge. Here's a non-child example: the hubs once asked me to clean up the vomit that some teen deposited in his car after a ride somewhere. Hubs has a weak stomach for stuff like that. But when the dog vomited, he didn't even complain about cleaning it up. (Although he had to plug his nose.) (maybe this isn't really a good example.)
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