This morning I was babysitting one of the most adorable infants out there. Her name is Hannah. Hannah is nine months old. Hannah likes to put things in her mouth and swallow them—lightning fast. I know there are those of you out there (you know who you are) who cannot hold a baby without wanting one (or another one) for yourself. I have never suffered from this particular affliction.
Don’t get me wrong. I like babies. I have an endless font of love (most days) for my own children. It’s just that I look at an infant and can’t help but think, “doesn’t that look like a lot of work on very little sleep.”
Even before I had first hand experience in the baby-rearing department, I couldn’t help but have the “that there looks like long term commitment and responsibility that I am not prepared to accept” reaction. Needless to say, it took some convincing, a lot of faith in God’s plan and some great examples in my life before I was able to get over that gut reaction. And believe me, it didn’t dissipate prior to number two; it was only reinforced by experience.
And so, here I am, two children later, babysitting in my home. Hannah is lovely. Hannah is fun. Hannah is lots of work. Hannah has been yet another reinforcement of my decision to (as a good friend put it) “hang up the ovaries” after two kids. To paraphrase another friend, I’m not the greatest parent of young children, but I think I’ll be a great parent of the 8 and up set. Ask me again in about 5 years.
No comments:
Post a Comment