So, I went on a job interview.

Because, well, why not, right? When you’re unemployed, that’s what you’re supposed to do. FIND A JOB.

In the mean time, I’ve taken on some twin duties and my last post about them was sweet and touching and beautiful and all about BABBIIIESSSSS and how they are AMAAZZZZINNGGGGG. And I’m sure a few people were wondering what my posts would turn into once it finally hit me that my Grown Up Job was 100% officially No More and the twins were my (temporary) future.

Well. I made it two weeks. And here is that post. The post where I’m all, KIDS SUCK, DON’T WANT ‘EM, PEOPLE WHO HAVE THEM ARE CRA-HAAAAZY. You’re welcome.

Let me preface this by saying that this is nothing new to me. I often sense a great deal of schadenfreude when it comes to having children, especially from my mother. I’m sure she wants a little grandbaby for cuddling and nuzzling purposes but also because she can finally point a finger and say HA HA SUCKS FOR YOU, THIS IS THE PART WHERE I GO HOME.

For someone who gladly welcomed four of them, it’s not something I really understand. She is extremely quick to point out how much work a kid is, how psychotic, how demanding, etc., particularly when we’ve been criticizing her and telling our infamous MOM LEFT ME AT CHOIR PRACTICE FOR FOUR HOURS stories. She just smirks and rolls her eyes and says JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU HAVE KIDS. I suppose mothers need to be this way. They need to share their misery with SOMEONE and naturally, guilt comes with the job description.

I’m assuming the idea is that I’ll pop out a kid and then immediately come crawling back to her on all fours, probably with half of the placenta still oozing out of me, begging her forgiveness for all those times I talked about her with my therapist. I suppose parents live for those moments, those moments when they can turn around and say HA!!!!!! NOT AS EASY AS YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE. SUCKER.

This actually legitmately bothers me because 1) I don’t think I possess any magical rainbows and butterflies ideas about popping out a kid and then raising it for the next twenty years. I mean, dude, that does not sound EASY to me so why would I think the experience should be smooth sailing and B) My mom CHOSE to have children, welcomed the four of us with open arms and tons of mushy slobbery kisses so why why why make it sound like we sucked her very soul out from day one?

Well. Because we did.

BACK TO THE STORY.

Disclaimer: for every “JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU HAVE CHILDREN BWA HA HA” demonic cackle my mother utters, she is quick to put an arm around me and give me the schpiel about how I changed her life and how much fun we were and how she wouldn’t trade us for a six bedroom house with a pool and a pony ranch. Oh wait. I think she left out that last part.

The point is, I know that children are hard work. I know that parents never get any sleep ever again, until they die, the end. I know that it becomes all about the kids and that you never have time to shower or eat a proper meal or that your stomach doesn’t ever look the same. I know that kids are whiny and needy and demanding and ungrateful and throw tantrums because I WANTED THE GREEN BALLOON NOT THE BLUE BALLOON WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

So, I know all this, I do.

Along those lines, I also know that nannying children is not the same as HAVING children. But spending four years with the same children sort of clues you into the fact that kids are awesome, hilarious, quirky, genius, brilliant, cool. But also? That at some time or another, you are going to want to take that child by the hand or the back of the shirt or the scalp and hand them over to a stranger in Battery Park City.

“Seriously, I don’t care who you are, take this kid and take them FAR FAR AWAY.”

These moments come and go for me and luckily, because Owen and River are the most amazing kids ever, they are few and far between. But for every adorable afternoon that we spend coloring in a coloring book, baking cupcakes with food-colored frosting, fall asleep on the couch together watching Finding Nemo, there is an afternoon straight from hell. Where one of them is smacking the other because HEEEEEE HURT MY FEEEEELINGS where the other throws himself face first on the floor because I WANT TO BE A KING WHEN I GROW UP AND OWEN SAID I CAN’T, etc. etc.

My most amazing “Why Can’t We Give Away Children” moment came last week when I escorted the boys to the amusement park in Central Park. I don’t know if you’ve ever frequented the Victorian Gardens but OH MY is it a treat. If you’re five. There are rides galore, all tailored for you! A mini roller coaster that takes your picture as you go around the bend! Those flying swing things that go AROUND AND AROUND FOREVER! A boat ride! Games you can play! A little mini airplane ride that takes you up in the air! OH THE AFTERNOON MAY NEVER BE QUITE SO AWESOME.

From an adults’ perspective, this trip to Central Park encapsulated every single thing I hate: large groups of people, blazing hot sun and no shade, many many things that move in a circle and make me nauseated, sleazy ride operators that wink at me as I walk by holding the hands of TWO SMALL CHILDREN, etc.

It was awful from the beginning.

I WANT TO TAKE A TAXI THERE.

NO, I WANT TO TAKE A TRAIN.

Compromise, right? We’ll take the train there and the taxi home.

BUUUUTTT I SAID I WANTED TO TAKE THE TRAIN HOOOOOOOOOOOOOME.

Too bad, you suck, you’re five, I win.

By the time we actually got to Central Park, we had a little bit of walking to do before coming upon the Victorian Gardens. Owen asked me every five seconds when we were going to get to Central Park and I kept telling him we were INSIDE Central Park ALREADY (kids are soooo stupid) and that we just had a little ways to walk before we hit the roller coaster.

BUT WHERE?

Up ahead.

I DON’T SEE IT.

Of course you don’t, you’re short, etc.

River watched a man catch a fish in a pond (Who the heck goes fishing in Central Park?) and REFUSED to walk any further.

A FISH! A FISH ON THE MAN’S FISHING POLE!

Yes, this is riveting indeed, but we came here to ride some rides so…can we move?

BUT IIIIIII WANTED TO SEE THE FIIIIIIIIIIIIISH.

It was in this moment that I decided we all needed ice cream. Which was a genius idea. Until Owen handed me his half-eaten ice cream sandwich, said he wasn’t hungry and wiped his hands on my shorts.

THANK YOU EVER SO MUCH.

Throughout this entire adventure, I tried very hard to stay excited. I mean, it might not be my idea of a good time (WHERE THE HELL WAS A SOY LATTE WHEN I NEEDED ONE?) but it sure was a good time for THEM and if I had to think about all the crap my parents endured so I could have a nice time…well. I owed Owen and River this. Even if they aren’t my children. Because my God do we have a lot of vacation pictures where my parents are enthusiastically smiling into the camera with bags under their eyes while I scream my head off in public.

I tried. I did.

But it was hot.

87 degrees, if you have to know.

And the lines for the rides were long, thanks to 10,000 Bronx day campers, all around the age of 12, who thought it was fun to cut the little kids who were too young to notice. BUT I NOTICED. OH, YES I DID.

We had a good time on the roller coaster. And the greasy-haired operator let me go on for free with Owen because apparently, he thought we would grab a drink after his shift was done. We laughed and clapped and raised our hands and I thought THIS ISN’T SO BAD!

But then River had a meltdown because he didn’t win the skeeball game.

And Owen wanted to ride the boat ride but the line was too long and I was sweating everywhere and didn’t want to wait and WHYYYYYYYY CAN’T WE RIDE THE BOAT RIIIIIIIIIIIIDE!?

And then Riv slipped and fell down.

And then I HAVE TO USE THE POTTY.

And I WANT A BOTTLE OF WATER, NOT THAT ONE, THIS ONE.

And on and on it went until I just decided to zone out completely while my brain slipped slowly out of my ear and onto the 150 degree pavement where it scrambled like an egg into a rather tasty omelet.

They both fell asleep in the taxi ride home.

Both of them leaning against me, sweaty heads burning holes in my shoulders as we sat in rush hour traffic.

I thought about how close I came to really losing my mind.

How many times my own mother lost her mind because she had not two little people to deal with but FOUR.

And I thought, how did she do it? At my age, she already had two of her own. By the age of thirty, she had three. And I still feel like a kid myself, WTF?

How did she keep her sanity? She did rely on my dad for help, that’s true but a lot of the time, he was working and so it was just her and…

Wow.

I am so not ready for this mom thing.

And I guess it’s a good thing too because 1) I have not secured the official position of Laura’s Baby Daddy yet and B) I got that job I interviewed for.

I have a few remaining weeks of babysitting and then I start anew, fresh, back to the world of adults.

And that afternoon, while I was chasing twins around Central Park, I thought, ‘THANK GOD’.

It is time for Laura to be 26 and to be young and to go to Central Park for dates and jogs and coffee and writing. It is not yet time for her to be screaming OWEN GET BACK HERE NOW OR YOU’LL GET A TIME OUT SO HELP ME GOD at the top of her lungs.

But then I thought about how the day had really been. For them.

Their delight at the wind in their faces on the roller coaster. The way they had held hands in line and introduced themselves to a little girl. “We are brothers! We are twins because we came out of mommy’s tummy AT THE SAME TIME.” I thought about their limp little fingers interlaced with mine in the backseat of a taxi cab. And I realized the day hadn’t been so bad after all.

And how I would gladly do it again if only for that moment, after I said ‘yes, okay, sure!’ to one last ride for the day, when Owen slipped his little arms around my leg, looked up at me and said, “I’m sure I really love you, Laura.”

Well.

Okay then, crazypants little butterbeans.

I’m sure I really love you, too.