I am so blessed to have a small but mighty (AMAZING) team of caregivers for my children. My kids have only been watched by family and those who we treat as such.
So today, when a beloved babysitter came to spend time with the kids, they were overjoyed. She took them to the park to play and on a trek to find an open ice cream shop (which she did. Score!).
My kids love their babysitters; I can’t even call them “babysitters”, because, as I said, they are more like dear friends or aunts. They are family. In any case, as much as my kids adore their caregivers, my son is in a “mama” phase, so he freaks out whenever he sees me and the babysitter in the same room.
So, when I have childcare help, which is a crucial part of my getting well plan, I have to make myself scarce. And, to be honest, quite often I will have a babysitter here so that my kids can engage in fun, lively activities requiring physical energy that I do not have. I will be home, off of my feet, while my kids play hide and seek, or trek up and down three staircases from the basement to the third floor and back, or run around the park, etc.
(Author’s note: This was supposed to be a happy, funny post. I actually started to write it yesterday, but now I feel sad and guilty. This is the hardest part of my treatment plan. Everything I have, I give to my kids. But sometimes, that still isn’t enough.
5 minutes later, Editor’s note: now that I am in this stage of the publishing process, I feel better. Happy, again. I won’t judge you if you don’t judge me.)
In any case, yesterday, while the kids were out getting ice cream and swinging at the park, I used the opportunity to work in the kitchen. I prepped our family’s dinner and did some cooking and was all set to make myself a smoothie for my afternoon snack, when I heard the front door open.
I expected that they would come in the house and head straight down to the basement to play, but when I heard them approaching the kitchen, there was nothing I could do but duck. It was like a movie. I just ducked and hid, right by the sink where I had been chopping and stirring.
The babysitter came in and sat at the kitchen table with the baby, feeding him the rest of his ice cream; BUT, her back was to me, so she had no idea that I was there, curled up, and, fortunately, she was inadvertently blocking me from the baby’s view. I stayed crouched down for a few minutes until my daughter came into the room and I managed to silently flag her down. She signaled to the babysitter and we all laughed, noiselessly. Then, as quietly as I could, I moved the trash can and recycling bin in front of me, so that I was further blocked from the baby’s sight. The babysitter fed my hungry boy, between giggles and my daughter, that little pip, said, “Oh, there is a problem here behind the trash can. I think some glass broke so I am just going to guard it so that no one gets hurt.”
She moved a few other things over to block me, saying, “Here. I am putting a stool in front of this mess. What an accident!”
(She also served as my photographer, grabbing my phone from the counter and snapping some shots to document this crazy, silly moment.)
Ten minutes later, the baby finally finished his Cookies and Cream and I was able to unwind my body out of the pretzel in which I had been contorted.
So, basically, what I am saying is that these gymnasts and yogis and circus performers may be incredibly skilled in the art of flexibility, strength and contortion,
don’t count us moms out;
Because if anyone knows how to maneuver swiftly across the perimeter of a sleeping baby’s nursery without making a sound,
or hide behind the smallest of items to avoid being spotted,
or balance precariously so that the floor does not creak to give her presence away,
it is a mom.