I’m Not Your Babysitter

The days I have to wake the kids up from nap to take them to the therapy clinic and sit in the waiting room for two hours are probably my least favorite days. Everyone’s tired, hungry, and grumpy. We have arguing and meltdowns.

On this particular occasion, I was in my second hour of waiting in the 20x20ft waiting room, along with my five and one year olds, and a whole bunch of other kids. One kid kept taking toys out of my one year old’s hand and another was running around the room endlessly, stomping on my baby’s hand. Each time something happened, I looked at the respective child’s mom, but would find she was bent over her iPhone. Finally it got to the point where I was getting hurt too, so I scanned the room and realized I was the babysitter.  I watched all five moms and none of them straightened from their iPhone hunch.

I would understand if a mom had an older child who was sitting, occupied with something to do. Then, yeah, go ahead. Bury yourself in Facebook. But these kids were all under two years old or running amok. Both require hovering. And do you need to spend AN HOUR on Facebook? Do a quick scroll-through and come back to reality.

I was completely on my own with all these kids and not getting even so much as eye contact from the manufacturers of these mongrels. So, I picked up my kids and went for a walk.  Do I look like I need more kids to take care of? More stress? More conflict?

These five moms should have been engaged with each other. We all have so much in common, and sit in the same room together week after week. Why do we have to remain so isolated and alone? A room with that many women in it should not be deathly silent. It’s unnatural.

I’m not judging iPhone usage. If I had one, I’m sure I would have the same temptation. But just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I’m the babysitter.