dirty job

One of the bits of superstitious wisdom that I hear pretty often is that if you hang out around pregnant women and/or babies for long enough, something will rub off on you and you will “catch” fertility,  like a cold.   Wouldn’t it be nice?  We could all just get volunteer gigs at a maternity ward for a few weeks — badda bing, badda boom:  baby.  I have to admit though, I have no problem with it when a pregnant friend feels the need to rub her belly on me to pass on the mojo.

I am around babies and children pretty much all the time however, and it hasn’t “rubbed off” yet.  I recently took a part-time job as a substitute “teacher” at a local pre-school.   The word teacher is in quotes because this is an artsy alternative pre-school,  and I’m more of a zoo-keeper than a teacher.  We stay outside most of the day on what has got to be the coolest playground I have ever seen.  They’ve got sand,  paint, playhouses, rope swings,  tri-cycles galore, and endless space to run wild and be kids.  The ages range from 18 months to 5 years, and there are about 85 or 90 of them altogether.  How’s that for immersion therapy?

I thought it would make me sad to work with little ones all day, considering,  but it actually works in my favor.  There are so many of them and it’s nonstop action, so there’s really no time to think about myself at all.   I love it.  In fact I get antsy when too many days go by without being called in to work.  I think it appeases something in me.  All my unspent mommy energy has a place to go for a while and I don’t have to take it all out on the cat.  (He hates being cradled.  Hates it.  There is a scratch on my nose from where he recently tried to communicate this fact to me.)

But of course as much as it is happy-fun rainbow playtime, it is also screaming-fight stinkbomb cry-time.   Just today I learned that the most precious, adorable little toddler I have ever seen in my life was capable of shitting into her own shoes.  She had pulled her diaper aside  and let it run down her little legs until it was pooling in her cute little sandals.   About an hour later on the other side of the playground a 3 year old who looked to me like a curly haired angel straight out of a Renaissance painting opened his angelic little mouth and spewed multi-colored vomit an impressive distance of at least 8 or 9 feet.  Oh, and the snot.  Wow.  Yeah, they are as nasty as they are beautiful… and they are really, really… beautiful.

Of course it’s not always that extreme, but whenever I tell one of these horror stories to a friend they inevitably say something like  “See?  Now aren’t you glad you don’t have one of your own?”   Uhhh…  no, asshole,  I’m not.  But thanks for the reminder.   As usual, what they think is somehow comforting is actually patronizing and wrong.   I know that kids can be gross.   That’s why they make them so damn cute,  so you can handle all the nasty.  I know that they scream and fight and throw things.  I know that they put human fecal matter in places you never thought it could go.  I know that they will be rebellious and mean and ungrateful sometimes.  I know that they will work my nerves and drain my bank account.   I know that they will some day be teenagers and find horrifying new ways to shock and embarrass me.  I am not stupid enough that I think a giggling angel is going to slide down a rainbow from heaven and land softly in my lap.   No.  It’s going to come screaming out of my body like that thing in the Alien movie and then shit all over my house.  I know that.   I know all that and still I want it so badly it keeps me up at night.  I don’t want to have a baby because I think it will be clean and easy,  I want to have a baby because every cell in my body is wired for it.  I need it like I need to breathe.  It’s not a choice, it’s a need.

So no,  seeing a kid throw a tantrum in the store is not a good time to remind me why I’m “lucky” I don’t “have to deal with that.”  And no, the pukey demons where I work don’t scare me at all.   I love that nasty, stinky job and all those dirty, snotty kids.


9 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mrs. Brightside
    Jul 13, 2011 @ 22:19:49

    Nice to meet you, MG. I saw your comment for Little Bird, and sentences like this one – “It’s going to come screaming out of my body like that thing in the Alien movie and then shit all over my house” – will definitely have me coming back. So sorry has been such a crappy ride so far. Pretty bad over in my neck of the woods too. But good god it makes it easier to go through all this with company. And not just any company (like your friend in a previous post, who I wanted to slap silly), but people who actually get it. Thank you for sharing 🙂


  2. melissa
    Jul 14, 2011 @ 05:33:35

    Yeah ask any of the parent of the children that did those things and they’ll still tell you they wouldn’t change a thing. I spent my first official mother’s day being thrown up on repeatedly…strawberry milk vomit, I might add. I was still thrilled to finally be a mom that day. I so hope you get to experiance that soon!


  3. m.g.
    Jul 14, 2011 @ 07:02:01

    haha! that sounds about right, meliisa ~


  4. Carole
    Jul 14, 2011 @ 08:09:06

    You have a talent to express your feelings, i’m in love with your blog 🙂


  5. Amy
    Jul 14, 2011 @ 22:26:18

    I ❤ you!! I found your blog from a link posted on a Facebook group about secondary infertility, and I am a fan. I feel your pain, I understand it all. You have an awesome ability to tell the bare truth with such wit and humor it makes me laugh and cry at the same time. You, my girl, are a favorite. I will keep you in my thoughts and pray that your house is soon blessed with endless snot and shit. Xoxo.


  6. m.g.
    Jul 14, 2011 @ 22:59:51

    Wow ~ thanks Amy! It makes my day to hear that ~ I’m obviously just getting started, but I have plenty I’ve been wanting to “vent” (bitch) about for a while so you won’t soon run out of reading material 😉
    Thank you so much for the support, and best of luck to us all!


  7. Selbe
    Jul 17, 2011 @ 23:28:33

    I’ve had two friends give birth in the last month, which means several trips to the hospital. I originally thought if I, you know, rubbed a few baby bellies, like Buddha or something, that it would cause me to get PG. Yeah that doesn’t work. Blah…


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