Things have been hectic, what with parent/teacher conferences on both Fridays, an upcoming trip to the Pumpkin Patch, a cold I’ve been trumping for days now, and yes, a foray into baby-sitting last night. Josh’s sister has three children who are under the age of four. They needed a baby sitter so they could attend a wedding on a boat. Josh felt that as an uncle and aunt who live relatively close by (3 hours) we should pitch in and do our extended family duties. The little girls really love their Uncle Josh, and although they throw me some dap occasionally, their adoration for Josh is HUGE–one of them even slipped and called me Uncle Mara.
On the way over to my sister-in-law’s pad we agreed that Josh would do girl patrol and I would be on baby patrol. The little boy is six months old, a real charmer, and until a recent weight gain, the spitting image of my husband when he was tiny. He’s a classic younger child of three, meaning he’s pretty capable and ambitious and frequently over shadowed by his two older sisters. We were enthusiastically greeted at the door. The parents were rushing around trying to leave, the baby was asleep, the girls were sitting on the kitchen counter, and last minute instructions were thrown at us. Now I have to tell you, I hated baby-sitting as a teenager. Like many youngsters who got into the Baby Sitter’s Club series, I was really excited to turn twelve and start my career in child care. Little did I know how lame it having an uncontrollable baby crying in your face. I dabbled in baby-sitting for a little while until I officially swore it off at age thirteen. (One time it was so bad, my Mom had to come over). I admire the nannies, baby-sitters, and child care workers out there but have never identified myself as being capable of nurturing for money (Although here I am corralling four and five-year-olds every day, no wonder I’m feeling out of my element). Well, how bad could it be, right? I’m an adult now, those baby-sitting disasters were years ago, I’m on top of my game…plus, I have Josh as a back up.
Initially, it appeared that Josh had the harder job. The two girls were running around, climbing up book shelves, shouting. The middle one is a real handful at age two, slapping and punching the older one when we weren’t looking and stealing the baby’s binkie when we were aiding her sister. Josh came up with a great plan of having them get ready for bed really early so they could watch a thirty minute video before bedtime. While Josh navigated the pajama swap, I had the difficult task of changing the baby into his pj’s. The kid was squirming, fussing, his binkie kept ejecting out of his mouth while I tussled with his clothes. I tried pulling his tiny shirt over his enormous head and was met with much resistance. He squealed and struggled while I unevenly snapped up his pants. While Josh was patrolling the pajama escapade with two kids in one room I had barely started with the one kid in the nursery. Finally it was Video Time and all of us crashed out in front of the Little People Farm Video. The baby even watched from his mechanical swing; several times I had to bat the middle girl away from stealing his pacifier. Bedtime with the girls was going fairly smoothly but slowly the baby was getting pissed off. I fed him a bottle which he only seemed mildly interested in. For the second time that night I tried burping him over my shoulder. He sensed what a novice I was and began whimpering and squealing. I threw him over my shoulder and started pacing around. His little arms pushed and strained against my shoulders and he started bawling. I passed him over to Josh, assuming that the kid was just sick of me. I read a story to the oldest girl, who had found her way into the spare bed in the baby’s room. Downstairs the kid howled. When I ran to the living room, the baby had projectile vomited all over Josh’s shirt. He was screaming and squalling and Josh handed him over. I paced around for about five minutes with the infant and he only grew more agitated. His face was turning red and he was screaming at the top of his lungs. At that moment Josh called his Mom. I changed his diaper while Josh received tips from his Mother. At this point I realized the baby was over tired and enduring a severe case of Stranger Anxiety. He kept rubbing at his eyes with his tiny fists. I was growing hot and sweaty from holding onto this seething creature. I called my own Mom, realizing that this was a strange repeat of history. I found myself asking my Mom if she wanted to come over. She assured me we were doing all that was possible. The baby howled in the background as Josh attempted to pat and rub the kid’s back as he’d been advised by his own mother. My Mom told me to lay him down for ten minutes, let him scream it out, and than pick him up again. We realized that the oldest daughter was now sleeping in the baby’s room. So I put the baby on the floor of the downstairs study and put boxes around him so he wouldn’t roll around. The little boy was hollering, fat tears rolling down his little cheeks, breaking my heart with each scream. We left him in there so we could have a break.
The doorbell rang and it was a pair of missionaries dropping by a business card that had been requested by Josh’s sister. I have to say they were a nice diversion. While the kid screamed in the next room I paced around the kitchen while Josh made small talk with the Mormons. I prematurely entered the study, picked up the still screaming baby, and while the missionaries talked to Josh I paced back and forth with him. I put him back down on the floor and set the timer for ten minutes. I called my Mom, trying hard not to cry. Josh sent the missionaries on their way. After ten minutes we began the pacing up and down thing again. At this point it had been forty-five minutes of solid screaming and the kid was starting to tire. Josh had this look in his eye that said: No way in hell. I realized that any hope I had of convincing him how cool it would be to have a kid was diminishing. Finally the baby slowed down…he whimpered and than let out several ear piercing screams at two minutes intervals…and than he was down to five minutes…and than he was only whimpering. We passed him back and forth, back and forth between us….finally he passed out in my arms. After several false starts we laid him in his crib, and once we were sure he was snoring we collapsed on the living room couch. He woke up fifteen minutes later and the regiment began. This time he spared us the screaming and settled back down quickly. My arms were exhausted, my lower back ached, and my body was super tense. I realized that I was experiencing just a small taste of what is, without a doubt, The Hardest Job In The World.