COLUMN: A new-found respect for moms and dads
Back in October, I got a call from my oldest brother asking me if I wanted to baby-sit his two kids for the weekend. At first, the idea didn’t sound very appealing, but then he mentioned that there were a couple hundred dollars and a lot of free food in it for me, so I accepted. After all, I thought, how bad could it be? I like kids, I’ve worked in elementary schools, and I’m an all-around capable guy. Besides, you’ve got to learn to change a diaper sometime, right?
So I drove to Lehi, where my brother and his family live, and assumed the role of a stay-at-home uncle. Two days and 835 diapers later, I staggered to my car and sped happily back to my single life in Logan, where I went around my house leaving sharp knives everywhere and swearing loudly in celebration of the fact that I no longer had to consider whether my every move might cause a very small person to become injured or a criminal someday. Okay, I didn’t actually do that, but I would have if I’d thought of it at the time.
Within the first few hours I was already starting to go a bit crazy from following around my 14-month old niece, who seemed to believe that the purpose of stairs was to test the effects of gravity on little blond toddlers. I was spurred to constant vigilance by the scene that kept playing out in my mind in which I’d have to tell my brother and his wife that the reason Lily’s legs were broken was that I was too busy watching “The Simpsons” to notice that she was climbing up the wobbly shelf with the anvils on it. So I followed her around all day, every day, until I forgot that my life had ever consisted of anything more than following around a tiny little chubby person.
She was in that awkward phase: too old to just lay there like a slug, but too young to realize that the ability to walk does not bring invincibility.
Fortunately, at seven years old, her brother had reached the point where he could be trusted not to ingest pointy, poisonous objects, so he spent most of the weekend wandering the streets with a gang of neighborhood boys with names like Jaxton or Kaeydun or Rygar or something.
Meanwhile, Lily decided she wanted to wander around outside, where she discovered the sandbox, which she thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, part of that enjoyment involved putting a lot of the sand in her diaper, and I didn’t stop her because I was too busy gazing longingly at the distant cars on the freeway and trying to remember if I had ever been so free.
By the time my brother and sister-in-law returned, I had gained an amazed and befuddled respect for anyone who stays home and takes care of small children. I love my niece and nephew, but two and a half days of being a full-time caretaker made me unspeakably grateful I don’t have kids right now.
We live in a culture where it seems marriage and children are as much a part of the college experience as textbooks and dorm rooms. While that lifestyle works for some, I think most college students would be better off using their college years to survive on their own and establish themselves.
If you really want to get married and have kids at 19, make sure it’s really what you want, and not something you’re doing to fulfill the expectations of any other person, church or cultural norm. Life is not a race; we can move at the pace that suits us best.
Enjoy whatever stage of life you are in. After all, once those kids come along, the knives have got to go back in the drawer and you’d better watch your mouth.
Devin Felix is a senior in print journalism. Comments can be sent to dfelix@cc.usu.edu.