Playdays

I don’t have a maternal bone in my body. Possibly a little harsh, and a little untrue.

I have a maternal bone; it’s just not very big? Slightly more accurate, yet I still sound like a demon.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I like kids, I just don’t LOVE them. I’m not the girl cooing over the pram, pulling faces and talking in that cutesy voice in order to try and get a reaction from a 2 week old baby. When asked to hold a baby, more often than not, it will be at arms length, as if I’d just been passed a muddy football. Perhaps I just don’t trust myself.

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy my job as a play worker for a local afterschool/holiday club. In fact, since working there I’ve had the opportunity to see many a 5 year old and their wonderful ways of playing. It’s easy to forget just how naïve and innocent you are at such an age, and how in reality something that doesn’t even matter seems like the biggest thing in the world.

It brings back memories of the hours I used to spend in the garden collecting cheesey bobs (yes, that IS what they’re called) or insisting on styling the babysitters hair when playing hairdressers – no matter how much pain would be inflicted on her, and the hours it would take for her to be free of my ‘fabulous’ creation.

That being said, a child’s intuition is usually right. When referred to as “rubbish” when helping with the lego, it typically means you need more practise at piecing those multi-coloured bricks together. A task that for a 21 year old, you’d think would be a breeze.. apparently not.

As a teacher you can go from being the class favourite to the devil in a matter of seconds, depending on how many sweets you have in your hand, or how long you’re prepared to carry numerous children on your shoulders for. Note to self, beating their famous skipping score does not bode well with a tired and irritable little girl! But you know you’ve done a good job when there’s hugs all round and smiley, not tearful faces.

I’ve always found it difficult to sugar coat in regards to those niggling children’s questions you know you’ll have to face one day. I’m sorry but the birds and the bees don’t work for me. Not to worry though, at no point would I dare consider informing them of the actual scenario. When it comes to “where do babies come from?” my answer always remains the same, “Ask your dad.”

However, when asked a question from the adult side of the spectrum such as “do you want kids?” I never quite know what to say, and never quite know why. If I’m honest, I’m not a fan of kids being places they shouldn’t. A recent experience of my dad cheering for the team at a rugby match and making the baby in front cry, didn’t move me. I mean, who takes a child that’s been on earth only a year to an environment full of loud, merry, cheering supporters in a stadium holding just over 50,000 people? Exactly.

I’ve never looked in the mirror and thought, ‘you look like a mum,’ but I have looked and thought, there was a moment you thought you never could be a mum. And that’s a scary thought to have. At that point, every pram and every child’s cry becomes an obsession, bringing the upturned feeling in your stomach you get when dread is implanted into your body. When you think you can’t have something, you always want it ten times more. I suppose that’s our child psyche coming back out to play. I can’t really imagine life without kids, I just think it’s a ridiculous question to ask someone who’s yet to graduate.

Lets be honest I know that if I were to be deluded enough to inflict motherhood on some poor unbeknown child, I know just how many, their sexes, how far apart in years they would be and both their names. Although as my brother often states: “you need to find a man first!”

SO little terrors, in order to make a better play worker and be rewarded with smiles, not tears:

I promise not to hold you like a football.

I promise to brush up on my lego skills.

And I promise to keep the hairstyle you’ve just created with my locks for at least an hour afterwards – despite the pain deconstructing this tangled mess will bring.

As for the skipping, I can’t promise not to jump one higher.. but I’ll be sure to tell you it was one lower than yours. After all, if you can't say something nice - don't say anything at all!!

Happy playdays