I'm not worthy of motherhood. I've lost track of children in public places, which makes it very possible that one could have fallen into the Gorilla Enclosure. I've forgotten the baby in the car because I wasn't used to having a baby in the car or because my mind was otherwise occupied. It truly is a miracle that the dozens of children I helped raise lived to puberty.
How did Josh survive those repeated vacations with me? What were his parents thinking, to allow him to travel farther than fifteen yards with such a terrible caretaker? And then - horrors - Josh allowed his child to fly cross-country in my care! Well, the grandparents went, too, but... you know, the same folks who let Josh travel with me...
My minions "know better" than to wander off. But they still did and they still do. I worry about children who don't simply forget the rules in exploring the wonders around them. By the time they hit double digits, my minions know what to do if lost - or if grabbed. Yes, I teach them of the dangers. These things, apparently, render me unsuitable for parenthood.
As for the car, I guess my minions have been lucky that I had other people around to call me on my negligence. The toddler who interrupted me (even though she knew better) to remind me about the baby - she saved Baby Sister from being MURDERED.
I'm stunned that my flouting of gender roles for children hasn't resulted in a Pride Parade at family reunions. And don't even get me started on the heinous crime of letting them have dirty faces or mismatched clothes. But, thank the Higher Powers, my baby-forgetting and child-losing uterus produced nothing larger than that damn fibroid.
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