This past week we had the privilege of helping out some friends by babysitting their 15-month-old. He was with us 4 days this week, for 6 - 8 hours a day.
Since my youngest is 10 now, I thought I'd be awkward with diaper changes, feeding, all that baby stuff. But no, it all came back quite easily. Even the stupid falsetto voice for speaking to the baby, and the dippy songs. (But I still didn't talk baby talk, just like I didn't to my kids.) What also came back was the memory of how much I wanted those days to be over.
I always loved my kids but I sure did start to like them better when we could communicate with each other. And when they could eat on their own, dress themselves, and take care of their own bathroom needs.
My mother always told me (just like your mother told you, or will) not to wish away the baby years. Now I know the years fly by and one day I will wonder what happened to my little ones. But so far I haven't missed those semi-helpless days. It sure is fun watching this baby discover and try to figure out the dog, and try to say my kids' names, and laugh uproariously at peek-a-boo. We love having him around. But still, I'm glad he goes home at the end of the day.
Someone told me that after babysitting this child I would want another. Nope, not so far, anyway. It just confirmed my feelings that babies are great, but I'm really glad they grow up.
1 comment:
I love my kids being older. My youngest is now 13. We have more adult conversations about more adult things. There are more activities we can actually do together.
The first few years are great, but for me, the years get greater as they go along.
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