Undecided.

I notice little children everywhere I go- particularly babies. Blame it on whatever you like- "that" time of life, hormones- I see them all the time. Cute ones, naughty ones, pudgy ones, black and white, I like 'em all.

Typically I think they are cute and then I comment on their cute little clothing. Other times however, I grind my teeth and pray that the bottle recklessly shoved in their little mouths will quiet them long enough for me to eat my meal in peace. My writing, at present, is about an experience to the latter.

This morning when KT and I were loading up her bundle of gear into the car we heard the not-so distant scream of an infant from across the parking lot. As KT heaved her work gear vests, helmet and a duffel bag full of necessities into the backseat of her truck, I watched patiently over her shoulder while a young mother tugged on her baby, desperately trying to free the child's fitful foot from a tangled seat belt. All the while, the unfazed mother's shoulders and back strained under the weight of a large carry'all bag and what looked to be a portable crib. A balancing act fit for an Olympic Game.

Just moments before, KT and I had finished collecting our things to leave the house. At a morning hour that began with '5' and ended with who-the-fuck-knows, my body was screaming at me for a few more hours of sleep. We were up early and in a hurry- KT had training to get to. As I watched her heave the heavy weight of her gear onto her shoulder and fumble for her keys to lock the door behind her, I silently remarked how steadfast she endured her job requirements. She respected the weight of her responsibility too much to complain about its burdens.

Closing up the car, KT and I briefly met eyes and over the cries of that exceptionally frustrated baby and KT quietly remarked something to the effect of "I'm glad that's not me this morning." I nodded in agreement...my barely awake body didn't want to handle that kid either. We were happy to be on our side of the parking lot.

I trotted off to my car, with nothing in hand but my purse and I smiled. Granted, at that moment, KT wasn't about to trade her bags for that screaching infant. But would that mom have traded places with KT? The twenty pound portable crib for the ten pound bullet proof vest? Probably not.

So here we have two woman- experiencing the same thing- from polar ends of the feminine equation. And me? I was the neutral variable, somewhere stuck between, "wow, I wish I had a big fat gun" and "wow, I wish I had a chubby little baby".

Thankfully, neither KT, the baby momma, nor I have to make exclusive choices. We can be bullet-proof-vest-wearing mommies, armed with a Glock and Gerber.

And being American, we'll take it to go, please. We're on a tight schedule, gentlemen.



Check out Working Mother's article ranking America's top 100 best companies for having your cake and eating it too. http://www.workingmother.com/web?service=vpage/3214