We have a lovely 10-year-old neighbor, E., who wants experience babysitting. I have an active toddler who never gives me a moment to breathe, never mind blog, clean, work, etc. So we’ve decided that E. will come over once a week to work as a mother’s helper. It’s an ideal situation–I can get stuff done in the house during the day while I still have the energy to do it.
Only there’s something about hiring a 10 year old that makes me feel so, well, old! Whenever I’m around kids, my first thought is always, “Cool! Someone to play with!” But then it hits me: I’m twenty-six years older than she is. I constantly have to remind myself, I’m not a kid anymore. I may feel like a kid. I may act like a kid. But to the genuine kids out there, I’m a grown-up and a full-fledged one at that.
It’s more extreme than just the Talking Heads “And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife and you may ask yourself–well…how did I get here?” Because I stare at that little wonder wandering around the living room, the one who demands, “Ishes!” and “Up!” and just think, “Where did he come from? How did that little thing possibly come from me?” It’s just shocking. Awe inducing. This little man forming his own personality somehow emerged a long, long time ago from me. Weird.
And yet the 10 year olds still think I’m old. What do they know?
