Yeah. I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

I had the pleasure of babysitting my friends’ baby, who is the smiliest, most angelic little almost-1-year-old you could ask for.

I have no children of my own, and while I want maybe one or two of them, genetics did not bestow me with the gene that draws me to children with the same force that I am, say, drawn into a shoe store. I like kids and all, but I don’t feel a primal or automatic urge to go play games with children at company picnics or know what to say to make them giggle or get them to stop crying. I’m generally inclined to treat them like little adults, though I know better than to make them a toddler-sized martini.

Anyway: I adore this little kiddo. He’s the first I’ve gotten to see grow from teeny infancy, and he recognizes me and reaches out for me when I’m around. So last night we got to hang out solo while his parents went out.

Before the walk, I changed his jacket 3 times before going out because I was afraid he’d be cold, or warm, or maybe he should have a hood, or maybe I should put him in a fleece and bring 2 more options just in case. I loaded my pockets with 10 binkies and toys, then realized that after all this, I forgot to put shoes on him.

I had also forgotten to strap him into the stroller entirely (lest he fall out at a screaming .0001 miles an hour). Naturally there are 60,000 straps and clips all wound around and I don’t know what goes where. When I got him all finally situated realized that I’ve done all this IN the house and now have to either undo all the straps and take him out of the stroller—a contraption as large and complicated as a space ship, I tell you—and put him back in again, OR I’ll have to carry him down 25 steps still strapped in.

Then my mind goes like this: But if I take him out of the stroller so I can carry the stroller down the steps first, what if something happens in the 3 seconds while he’s out of my sight? What if he chokes on a Lego or tries to pull himself up on the bookshelf and it falls over or drinks Drain-o or follows me out and falls down the stairs or chokes on those little strings that hang from the blinds?

And the whole time he’s sitting there blinking his giant blue eyes at me like, “Lady, what the HELL are you doing?”

Note to self: Call your mother and apologize to her for all the years you teased her never, ever getting out of the house on time.

(Oh, and I carried him down the steps IN the stroller. And I didn't drop him once.)