Unpaid Child Care

Recently my roommate and I got to talking about some of the things parents do for their children when they’re young. You know the kind of thing; wiping dirty noises and changing poopy diapers. Then as they get older you start helping them to navigate the world. As my roommate and I talked about this, my son chimed in with, “Yeah and you didn’t get paid for any of it either!” 

I looked at him and replied, “So! I got the best part.”

He looked at me funny, got up and walked off.

What my son doesn’t know and can’t possibly know until he gets to be a parent someday is that no matter how many times you wipe a snotty nose or change a poopy diaper it’s all worth it for the baby smiles and giggles you share with your child. Not to mention the hugs and cuddling while he’s still so little.

Watching him discover new things such as his hands and feet. Watching him crawl and take his first steps. Watching him stand on grass for the first time. Seeing him lift his little foot and put it down repeatedly as if he couldn’t believe the grass would hold him. Hearing him call me “mama” for the first time. The first time he tells me he loves me. Watching his face light up when I walked into the room and knowing that for that small space of time I was his whole world. 

Feeding him his first foods beyond formula and watching his little face as he decides if he likes it or not. The first cereal I fed him was rice. He was fine with that. The first baby food I fed him was sweet potato. He loved that. I don’t think I fed him a baby food he didn’t like. It was only as he got old enough to eat regular, solid foods that he started disliking foods. 

Watching him grow up and start school. His first day at school he had to ride the bus. We went out to the stop a bit early to be sure we were on time. He started getting bored, so we played tag. We kept to a small area so as not to miss the bus and from then on that became our normal waiting for the bus activity. Then the school moved into its new building across the street and there were no more games of tag. But I got to walk him to and from school until he was old enough to cross the street without me worrying too much about him.

As he got older, he got more independent and needed me less. I didn’t mind. This is part of life. He’s eighteen now and there’s no way I can explain to him that even though there are no monetary rewards for being his mom, I am paid. Paid by his love for me. Paid by watching him become a fine, caring young man who delights in helping others when he can. Paid when he does his chores in a responsible fashion. Paid when he goes to work to earn his living. Paid when I learn he does what’s asked of him and then some at his job. Those things are payment enough for me because they tell me that I’ve done my job as his mom. Like I said at the start, I got the best part.