The little storytime darlings have given me a cold. At least I think so - my allergies have been weirdly intense since September. But I went home early today with that groggy-headed cold feeling. There is a certain degree of tragedy in coming down with something on the first week of my two-week storytime break. But when you work with kids, particularly babies and toddlers, you have to accept the gift of their viruses, right along with the scribbled drawings and and the unabashed adoration. Some of them are more egregious in their germ-sharing then others, though. One of the toddlers used to come to my baby storytime, and during the quieter moments he would toddle up to me and put his head on my lap (which, in all honesty, was a little weird in and of itself). Since he was teething, when he got up he would leave a puddle of drool big enough to soak through my pant leg. It's a little like a college party, dealing with wee ones.
Actually, until around the time that they turn 3, kids really are like little drunk people. Lurching around, grabbing things for balance that aren't stable enough to withstand their weight, falling on their heads without getting hurt, spitting up without warning, babbling incoherently, crying for no reason, lifting their shirts to show you what they've got, coming out of nowhere to hug you without asking - my storytime mornings are one big frat party. But with more puppets. Unless you went to kinkier parties than I did.
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