CoAbode

Pseudo Mom, By Lori Hughes

When I first became a Pseudo-mom I was just shy of 30 and dated only sporadically. It was clear that I would likely not have children and I think it was Time Magazine that had just declared I had a better chance of being killed by a terrorist's bullet than finding a husband. Wasn't I supposed to be thrilled to have an opportunity to 'play mommy'? I should explain. I don't 'play at' anything very well. Either I 'do' or I 'don't do'. I could babysit but I couldn't exercise someone else's idea of maternal instincts on my Pseudo-kid. I was not a parental figure. I was a friend, a playmate, a favorite doll with hair to comb, nails to paint and facial expressions to mimic. She could tease me about the way I talked and I'd take it. When I asked her to do something for me it was a favor for a friend. And usually, she did it. Until I became the Pseudo-Mom.

I had often been the preferred baby-sitter for weekends away or an important night out but this required a complete overhaul in my own schedule. Business had to be wrapped up and put away for the day in order for me to arrive 'home' in time for the babysitter to rush off to her own brood. It was nice that dinner was already prepared and my little darling was waiting patiently for me. I would park her at the table, pour her glass of milk... and she would refuse to eat. She had already eaten, she would swear again and again, increasingly adamant in her insistence. She had eaten earlier and was now ready for candy, ice cream, cookies or whatever treat she had happened to spy while waiting for me to arrive. "I had to eat because you weren't here yet!" Did I look like a sucker??!!! Where was her plate? In the dishwasher. Why hadn't the babysitter told me she'd already eaten. She forgot. And, besides, you didn't ask her. And I didn't like it and I don't want to eat it again! And there was the pout. Color rising to her cheeks, beautiful little rosebud lips pursed in a pout... who could resist that? Who would not crumble in the face of such distress? A Pseudo-mom. Well, that's not entirely true. I was unprepared for a full on mealtime ordeal and I was pretty sure that one incomplete meal would not result in malnourishment. I made her eat rice and three bites of chicken and two tiny pieces of brocoli. She choked them down between defiant tears. And then she had cookies. So much for discipline.