Babysitting. I mean, Motherhood Training.

Babysitting.  It is the occupation of a 15 year-old girl.  When you’re 28 years old, however, it is a different experience.  Let me clarify: when you’re 28 and not married, and not a mother, it is a monumentally different experience.  Some silent biological clock is ticking in your blood, pulling the strings at the thought of passing on your DNA while the nucleic acids are feeling prime – most likely due to societal pressures, the lifestyles of your friends and family, or, namely, the words which keep emerging from your mother.

My uncle put the kiddie car seat in the back of my car since I was babysitting for the day – something which was not anticipated and apparently everyone had decided upon without informing me.  Not that I minded that much.  It’s just – shoot.  Didn’t think I’d feel like a soccer mom this soon when I was single and nowhere near expecting – not until way, way into the future.

Some observations came up – and a few inquiries that have never occurred to me.

WHERE does the kid go when I need to get in the shower?  I mean, who’s going to watch her for those ten minutes ?  Isn’t there some statute that dictates that all minors must not be left alone at all times?  I wonder what the minimum age is for that.

In other news, kids clothes are EXPENSIVE.  Jeez.  Went to the Gap Kids retailer near my house with my mom, so that she could buy an outfit for my little cousin.  Since they’re half our size, and half the fabric, doesn’t that mean they should cost half as much?  Man.  However, kids’ clothes are cute, I must say.  Adorable.

I have to admit – a double-breasted black corduroy jacket with gold buttons is quite the fashionable number for a four year-old.  Not on sale.  But she will be damn stylin’.

Note to general public: Please do NOT mistake my mother for a grandmother.  It will not be taken well, within any context.  More importantly, I’m the one who will have to hear her discontentment and be subject to her grimaces over the memory of the incident – so really, for me, please – just smile and move on.

Saw the shift from cranky-tired-droopy-face transform into I-miss-my-parents-and-I’m-going-to-cry-and-there’s-no-stopping-it face.  Quite the metamorphosis.  In slow-motion, too.  Kinda like watching a pot boil over with water.

Or that old white guy who chose ‘poorly’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark and disintegrated in seconds in that cave and Indy and everybody just watched.  Once it begins there is little that can be done to keep it from happening.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s