Sandy Supposes....

Mamma Me-a?

November 13th prompt: In your world, all citizens are temporarily neutered at birth. When you want to become a parent, you must prove to the government that you'll be suitable caretakers and providers before you are allowed to procreate. How do you prove to the government that you'll be a good caretaker/parent?

         

         

         

         Well, I'm not much of a whiteboard presenter. A klutz such as myself should never wield a pointer, or move amongst potential obstacles. For every one's sake I do not have charts , or graphs. I do not have a slide-show presentation either. Coloured pictures may appear wonderful, but they are merely flashy and lack substance.

         I will present my appeal to be a potential parent as if I were mounting my court case before a judge.
My lack of physical grace not withstanding, sincerity would be my strong suit. I would prove my suitability with a series of character references.

         Was I always a parent-in-training? For years, I chose to be a babysitter, a child-minder, a childcare worker. I enjoy the company of kids. They fuel my creativity. They approach life with a joie de vivre. Their exuberance is refreshing and contagious.

         For many years, I volunteered with youth groups accompanying them camping and on various field trips. I never lost anyone. Everyone survived with all of their digits attached. My sanity did not suffer permanent damage either.

         To put forth my intentions to become a minder, a teacher, a nurturer of my own offspring I will present the testimonies of all the parents and children I have been privileged to know. Surely they recognize my heartfelt desire and will welcome me to the elite sanctum of parenthood.

         Perhaps I could offer to attend a child-rearing boot camp? Of course, I'd have to endure countless days of no sleep. I'd have to acclimatize to wailing, mewling, whimpering, screeching even if I were the one emitting such a ruckus. My olfactory senses and my stomach would have to adjust to a variety of odours most foul. I'd prove my prowess and skill at diaper-changing a squirming infant by doing so one-handed and blind-folded with another baby clutching at my ankles. After a stint in a sensory deprivation tank listening to non-stop nursery rhymes, I'd emerge unscathed and capable of conversing with another adult. Granted I may stumble and stub a few toes, but I would traverse an obstacle course consisting of Lego, building blocks, Little People figures, strewn baby bottles, bakeware from the kitchen, and prove my stamina. In short, I'd be prepared for anything.

          Let the de-neutering begin!