Not Ready for Parenthood

I signed up for Child Development last year hoping to prepare myself to become a nurse later in life. I knew I would have to take home a “robot baby” at some point, but I definitely underestimated how difficult it would be. The weeks leading up to when I would take home the baby, we watched films and did worksheets on what to expect. The baby was as real as a fake baby could get. It would cry, sleep, eat, need its diaper changed and be nurtured. I knew this project couldn’t be something I could blow off or put on the back burner.

I had been anxiously awaiting the 2:40 bell all day because I knew it meant I would have to pick up my Child Development baby for the weekend. I had signed up for a baby boy earlier in the week, so I decided his name would be Alfonzo. My teacher went through a mental check list with me to make sure I had everything I would need for the weekend — a bottle, two diapers, three outfits. Strapping a bracelet to my wrist, she then explained that anytime the baby cried I had to check in with the bracelet. That way whenever he cried she would know I was attempting to care for him.

I thought I had this under my belt. But then she gave me her phone number telling me to call her if anything went wrong, which made me begin to think I was going to get more than I bargained for. Knowing the baby was going to turn on, or  “come alive,” at 3 p.m., I rushed out of school. I did not want to cause a scene walking out of school with a screeching robot baby.

On the way home I waited for him to cry, or make any sort of sound, but nothing happened. After an hour or so of silence, I started to think the baby was broken, but soon I found out that was not the case.

The first blood curdling wail he let out surprised me. I looked at Alfonzo cluelessly, not knowing what to do. After feeding him, changing his diaper and rocking him, he was finally content.

Later that evening I decided it would be okay to go out to dinner with friends, since the baby had only fussed here and there.

As soon as we walked into Noodles & Company, the stares and murmurs started. I felt like Lindsay Lohan straight out of jail and back in public for the first time. A mother looked at me appalled while pointing me out to her husband. They were obviously not aware that the baby was fake. I was embarrassed, but I wasn’t the only one — my friends were too. They would occasionally shout out “It’s not real!” On top of that, while we were eating, a woman sitting by our table glanced over and snidely remarked, “I don’t envy you.” I didn’t quite know what to think; I awkwardly smiled and kept my cool but secretly I was angry, confused and embarrassed.

By Saturday morning, I’d been responsible for Alfonzo for less than a day, and I was already exhausted. Alfonzo woke up twice overnight, both times to eat, followed by burping and a diaper change. My day revolved around Alfonzo’s needs and wants; I even had to wait until he fell asleep to shower just in case he cried.

Finally a friend called to go to lunch, which was a relief. But then realizing I would have to go in public again with the baby made the lunch plans 10 times as stressful. Walking into The Mixx, baby carrier and all, my teen mom status was in full swing.

“Everyone’s looking at you,” my friend whispered.

At this point I didn’t really care. I knew I would never see these people again and it was a relief to get out of the house.

Through small talk at lunch, I found out that for once my friends actually had a party to go to, but of course I couldn’t go. One of my friends decided to stick around for the night knowing that otherwise, I would be planless.

After religiously checking my Instagram feed every 30 minutes to see all the party pictures, we decided it was time to get out of the house. My teacher allowed us one hour for a “babysitter,” and my mom gladly took the job. Finally free, my friend and I went to get ice cream knowing I had only a short amount of time before I would have to be back at home.

But the instant we pulled up to Cold Stone, my mom frantically called me saying the baby was crying and wouldn’t stop. She had already tried giving him a bottle, changing his diaper and rocking him, but nothing was working. My friend and I hurried to get home, but when we got home, Alfonzo was perfectly fine. When my friend left I started to put Alfonzo to bed, but he wasn’t the only one who was sleepy and cranky — the whole mothering thing was starting to take a toll on me too.

Alfonzo decided to let me sleep in ‘till 10 a.m. on Sunday, which was the least he could do, considering he had woken me up twice again overnight. Knowing that he would turn off later that night at 9 p.m. made me sad, I would miss the little guy. I had spent almost every waking moment with him since I got him on Friday.

Later that afternoon I got a call from my neighbors asking me to come over and babysit real kids. I said I would, even though I knew it probably wasn’t the best idea since technically I already had a baby to take care of. When I walked into their house all the kids ran up to  inspect the robot baby. The younger boys started poking Alfonzo’s head and eyes while asking questions. Does he actually go to the bathroom? Can I make him cry? I assumed I was in for it once the parents left. But luckily the boys decided to play video games, so it wasn’t too bad.

After babysitting, I went home and attempted to start my homework. I thought my usual procrastination on Sundays was bad, but Alfonzo made it even worse. Every half hour he had to eat. He was a tank, and I’m pretty sure if he was a real baby he would have popped at the rate he ate. It took me at least an hour to finish a page in my math book that would have usually taken me 20 minutes. By the time I finished my homework, it was 8 p.m., and I was beginning to count down the minutes to when Alfonzo would turn off.

When it finally reached 9, it felt like a freedom bell had struck, and I was proud to say I survived. I doubted the difficulty of caring for a baby, but I can assure you the job is not easy. Motherhood comes with dedication, effort and flexibility.