Yesterday, I remembered two things.
Why I stopped having babies,
and
Why I do daycare.
I was sitting in Sunday School next to a man with a baby. I know this guy, his wife and I are friends, the kind who can chat comfortably at church and know that if they had less kids, more time, and tried harder, they could be better friends. Her husband is a fun person with a great sense of humor. So, he’s sitting there next to me, with the baby (I’m thinking this little person is about 6 months old…got a bottom tooth, drooling). The baby is desperately trying to grab Dad’s ipad, which has the scriptures on it that Dad is equally as desperately trying to read and gain some spiritual insights…either that, or playing Angry Birds…I’m just guessing here…
I was thinking his resistance was futile. That baby was going to win. Either the device would be abandoned on the pile of belongings under his chair, or ruined when Baby Drool, the most toxic substance known to parents (you do realize that Baby Drool has digestive enzymes in it? And that those enzymes can in fact dissolve leather and electronics?) falls into some crevice and eats up the tiny crapola in there. I was also thinking that I have a lot of experience in multi-tasking, which is to say that I can in fact receive spiritual guidance while wrestling a 15 pound baby, planning next week’s menu, reworking the budget and making peanut butter sandwiches.
So I took the baby away from him. Well, I held out my arms and that baby came right over, probably recognizing with some deep primeval instinct that I would let him eat my earrings. Which I did. Hey, they’re not leather or electronic, and therefore safe from the effects of drool. Plus it was fun. That sure was one rewarding baby! He was ticklish in all the right places, snuggly, and had the sweetest smell. His cheeks were fat and pink, he had gorgeous big blue eyes, and the cutest chubby, dimpled little fingers. AND he was wearing overalls. I’m a sucker for a tiny man in overalls:)
And, when Sunday School was over, I gave him right back.
That’s why I quit having babies.
Because if you gave birth to them, you can’t give them back. You are the end of the line. No one wants your drooling, pooping, crying bundle of joy for longer than a few minutes, and the minute that baby drools, poops, or barfs, you get it right back.
And that’s why I do daycare.
Because I do love those little things. There is something so precious, so wonderful about a small child. They are so tiny and perfect and sweet.
Especially when you know their parent will take them back at 5pm.
So yesterday was my favorite kind of baby moment. I chose to hold the tiny precious, his dad made insightful comments in the Sunday School class (I guess it really was the Scriptures…and not Angry Birds…) and the baby had a fun time.
I felt grateful for all the babies I was lucky enough to give birth to, and grateful for the fact that no more are coming via that route. I felt grateful for the chance to care for other people’s little mess-makers, and enjoy their innocent spirits.
I felt grateful that I went home on a Sunday afternoon and none of those miniature poop machines were at my house.
Amen.
