I have a job that lets me work around small children every once in a while, and I must say, it makes my heart happy.
At first, it didn't. Not that I didn't like kids, because I really do - it's just that "nervous" would have been a far more appropriate term. Small children hadn't been in my normal repertiore since the age of thirteen (back when my mother babysat full-time) and, as such, I had almost forgotten what to do with them. So the first time I failed to find enough childcare workers for a particular event and had to volunteer myself, I couldn't help feeling slightly frightened. At any rate, I know I was awkward around them, and I'm sure anybody - mothers especially - could clearly tell.
But practice makes...well, lots of improvement, anyway. At least the kiddies don't smell fear on me anymore. I'm almost good at this game, and I do adore them so. It feels wonderful, for example, when Gavin sees me on a Sunday morning and has to either wave really big or run over and hug me 'round the middle. Bless his ADHD little heart.
I'm still not one of those young women groaning inside going "I waaant oooooone." Not yet, at least. I mean, I do want children, fo sho, but the longing just doesn't plague me that deeply. Why yearn for one child of my own when I can just have Gavin, Cameron, Landen and Andrew two or three times a month?
Just a smidge more honesty
Saturday, January 16, 2010
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Realistically Speaking,
- Erica Grubaugh
- My name is Erica and I think too much...or maybe not enough. Or maybe I think too much but don't remember what I've thought so I could blog about it later. I really need to start carrying a notebook with me. Who knows what kind of money I could make with the craziness that happens in my head?
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