To Everything, There is a Season and a Time for Little Debbie

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I’m at my favorite coffee shop again.  And there are babies here.  Three women just walked in with their yoga mats, each one carrying a baby car seat carrier thingy – I’m assuming each full of baby.  The disadvantage of having your favorite coffee shop 25 feet away from a yoga studio.

Not that I dislike babies.  They have their time and place, and right now it’s not in my coffee shop at this moment.  There are three of them.  What are the odds that one is going to start crying?  Hmmm – not sure about that, but I know it’s three times greater than if there was only one baby.  I don’t like it when they travel in packs.

Like most every other girl of my generation, I did the babysitting thing as a teenager.  And I literally hated every minute of it.  I had no idea what to do with kids –  how to entertain them or get them to go to eat or sleep.   I counted the minutes until their parents came home.  Seriously.  Some of my most awkward memories of those years are of my babysitting “adventures”.  One house only had Little Debbie’s to nosh on.  Really?  While taking me home after another gig, a dad told me that he couldn’t pay me enough for watching his precious children then proceeded to give me $2.50 for four hours.  I tried not to spend it all in one place.

I remember babysitting my now 42 year old niece when she was eight months old.  Home from college for the summer, it seemed a good way to get to know her while my brother and his wife went to a Rolling Stones concert.   She cried the entire time they were gone.  Non-stop.  Definitely not the baby whisperer.   I couldn’t wait until came to pick her up.  I think they were stoned.

One of the coffee shop babies has started to cry.  Vigorously.  I knew it…

Given my early experiences with children, it’s a wonder I procreated.  I guess maybe the desire to see what a child of mine would look like?  Pretty lame.  Then I found out that, at the beginning, they all look like aliens.

It turned out that, after a rough start – the oldest one always has a rough way to go with first time parents – it went pretty well.  I actually liked being a mom.  My husband and I were in love with our son.  He was the perfect child; pleasant, happy, always smiling and really, really cute.  Like “people would stop us in the mall to tell us how cute he was” cute.

Then the unexpected happened.  When our son was nine months old, I got pregnant again.  WTF??

I need to stop and tell everybody out there that all that stuff that we heard when we were young about it “only taking one time”  was more than just a scare tactic to deter pre-marital sex.  They were telling us the truth.  Prior to the big “V”, my husband and I decided to forgo birth control twice.  And I have two kids.  Lesson learned.

I know – TMI.

Life got really interesting and busy after our second son, who was born with a stogie in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other, arrived.  But I still loved being a mom.  It was the best thing I have ever done and probably ever will do.  And I had much better stuff for our babysitters than Little Debbie’s!  My apologies to all you Little Debbie lovers out there…

The coffee shop babies are gone now.  All is quiet again.  And that works for me at this stage of my life.  It’s the season of quiet. Of introspection and thoughtful reflection.  Of blog writing and spiritual contemplation.

Oh God – I can’t wait until I have grandkids!

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