Not Yo Mama

Lately I've been having to beat them off with a stick. I can't get rid of them. They won't go away. And, seriously, people, I'm just not that into other people's kids.

Oh, I've got room in my heart for my own. Most days. And room in my heart for the offspring of those I know and love, especially if they look like me. But the wee children of strangers hold absolutely no thrall for me. I'm about as excited about having them crawling on me as I would be about, say, being flocked by pigeons.

All I can think about is the germs.

I take Secret Lulu places and while other parents are hiding out in a corner somewhere while their children swing from the chandeliers--these are nice places--I'm at Secret Lulu's side taking advantage of "language opportunities." So I play with my kid and I talk to my kid and I generally do my best to forget that I'd rather poke my eye out.

Only other people's kids think I'm one of those grown ups, you know, the kind who have fun at the park. I am not one of those grown ups, people. I am only interested in the slide as a catalyst for motor planning and the opportunity it affords for illustrating the conversational use of the words "up" and "down."

Stranger kids don't know that. Stranger kids come to me with their boo-boos, want to be pushed on the swing, and demand that I impose their views of fairness on yet more stranger kids. They're so hopeful and eager. They're so not my kid.

If only that meant they were so not my problem. 

But it's hard to be mean to little kids. If only because I'm afraid their parents might come out of hiding, take umbrage, and attack. And also, because they don't know any better. I'd rather not be so involved that I take on the responsibility of teaching them.

So I endure. I really do mean endure. These tiny people have razor sharp elbows and pointy little feet and if I happen to be sitting still for longer than it takes to say "hello" I often find them scaling me like the rock wall at REI. I gingerly pluck them off and deposit them to safety, gently decline their offers of used gum, and deflect their sincere, though often boogery, attempts at friendship.

The worst part is that I am acutely aware that their parents are nowhere to be found. Seriously. More than once I've found myself lingering somewhere I'd rather not be because a child who's barely old enough to identify their own nose is seemingly on their own in a public park, library, or book store. If my intentions were less than honorable--okay, so my intentions aren't honorable so much as disaffected--I could walk off with one of these little ankle biters.

Not only would there not be a struggle but the kid would probably be the one to suggest it. 

So where are these parents and why don't they care? Secret Lulu is a pretty stand-offish kid so I'm not exactly having to preach stranger-danger to her, but why do these kids seem so attention starved. Is it because they really aren't getting their fair share of attention or is it because for some kids there is no such thing as enough attention.

I don't know, people. I really don't. And I wouldn't care so much if Secret Lulu wanted to play with them, but she doesn't. After all, she's already got the coolest playmate at the park.

That would be me.

Comments

[Alice]

I always think I'm one of those people that wants to hold other people's babies and play with other peoples kids.

But then you take the baby in your arms or take the kid to the toys to play and the kid's parents disappear. You realize it can't be a 4 minute encounter, you're stuck. And to be fair if someone took interest in hanging out with my kid - I'd walk away too. Take him - hold him, play with him. I'll go for a nap or to the grocery or the bathroom or anywhere else!

So I get it, but I don't like it. Ive become one of those people that just looks annoyed at the notion of entertaining anyone else's child.

Anyway -

Clearly the only solution is to stay home...

[court]

my summer job for the past three years has been watching three children now all 7 and under.
so naturally i spend the majority of my time at the public pool and park which, as you know, is overflowing with kids.
now i'm only 18, but apparently that's old enough for me to be an "adult" in the eyes of munchkins.
i get kids all the time coming to me instead of their parents to rub on their sunscreen, push them on the swing, or for a handful of pretzels.
don't get me wrong, i love children.
7 would be the ideal number for me, well maybe just 4.
but, i'm only paid to make sure my three don't die under my care.

[Alice]

YOU FINISHED YOUR BOOK?

[Polly Poppins]

The book I was reading, not the book I am writing. Although I actually am working on the book I am writing, so finishing has become that much more likely.

[Diosa]

I've never been a kid person. I like my own, but I'm still not generally a kid person. My mom wanted me to help her babysit someone else's kid. She was surprised to learn I'm not that into other people's kids. I guess she thought I do some 180 after having my own, but it's more like a 90 that only swings that way for my kids.

[Alice]

oh, well thats not nearly as exciting

[Polly Poppins]

Diosa, my attention span for kids usually matches theirs, which is to say I've got less than five minutes for anyone under two, ten minutes for preschoolers, and from fifteen to twenty for elementary schoolers.