I spent many of my high school weekends babysitting. I changed countless diapers, checked temperatures, cooked more mac and cheese than necessary, cleaned up messes and was even puked on (repeatedly).
Despite all of this “experience,” I did go on to have three children of my own — but not for a long time.
Our daughter has been babysitting off and on for a few years now. I told her the same thing, “Consider this birth control.”
“Mmmooommmm!” with an eye roll is the typical response.
One little boy was an infant when he came into her life. He was all smiles and snuggles. She loved spending time with him, and it was just at short intervals as she learned to care for him.
Now, said infant is a two-year-old boy. He woos her with his bright eyes and long lashes. He has an incredible vocabulary, told her when he needed to “potty” and even sat with her to read books and watch “Cars” on repeat. She was still smitten.
“Now I understand why you say boys get easier as they get older,” she said to me with rose colored glasses.
“This is still the birth control phase,” I replied.
Little Man came over again recently while his mom was away for a few hours. And while I was home and available for emergencies, I still left my daughter in charge of his care.
Having become more comfortable in our house this time — and of course being fully mobile now — our daughter was going to learn this time.
He immediately went for the stairs. And then the cat. And then the stairs again. His mom had not even left the house yet. When she did, it was back down the stairs with our daughter chasing him.
Soon he was hungry and then not hungry and — oops! — forgot to mention that he needed to “potty” this time.
To be fair, he just turned two. My boys had no interest in this “task” until they were three.
Our daughter is not nose-blind, and once she realized what had happened, she got to experience changing the diaper of a squirmy toddler. Conveniently, I was outside grooming the dogs and could not hear her cries for assistance — and she didn’t have an extra hand available to grab her cell phone.
She walked outside carrying Little Man in one arm and the bag of — you know — in the other. She was wide eyed and out of breath. I just reveled in the moment.
Following this teaching moment outdoor play commenced. Little Man did laps around the house with our daughter on his heels, ate a rapidly melting popsicle and chased a ball across the driveway, which — in classic little boy fashion — resulted in road rash.
Despite her best efforts to keep him happy and injury-free, his cries came and her face contorted into, “OH NO!” as she scooped him up to dry his tears and clean him up.
I stepped in to help and reached out to Little Man’s mom who reassured our daughter that “this stuff happens” and he will be okay. His mom handled it like a seasoned professional.
In just a few hours, our daughter experienced nearly all possible emotions that come with child rearing. By the time he went home, she was frazzled yet worried she would never be asked to watch him again.
“I get it now, Mom.”
Mission accomplished.
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