As I was working on this post I asked Brian if I should title it “How to Inspire Confidence as a Babysitter” or “Babysitting Bloodbath.” I went with the former, but the fact that both were appropriate titles is innately concerning, no?
Let me set the scene: Last Friday some friends from our prenatal class asked me to babysit their little boy so that they could have a rare date. I like this couple, and I like their baby, and I had no plans so why not? Why not. I am the mother of a toddler, after all. I’m not some mother of a newborn who can’t manage her shit. The sky’s the limit, I thought, when it comes to my ability to monitor my own child and countless other children simultaneously. Ok one other child simultaneously. This should be no problem, I said to myself. Practice for when Nolan has a sibling.
I was confident. I was Maria Von Trapp minus five of the children and the Nazis.
It turns out my confidence was unwarranted. One thing I hadn’t taken into account was the fact that Nolan’s newfound mobility makes monitoring him a completely different experience than it had been for the first 14 months of his life. During those earlier months, monitoring him was akin to monitoring a Honey Baked Ham. Little movement, delightfully sweet smell. Now he is a ham balancing on tiny little Geisha feet with zero sense of gravity, balance or personal safety. I don’t think I have to spell out that that’s the very worst type of ham.
Anyway. Before the appointed babysitting hour I was rushing around trying to get cleaned up so that when my friends arrived they would feel good about leaving their most precious cargo with me. I was the picture of competence, by which I mean that I was wearing pants and not pajamas, and that the house wasn’t on fire.
Unfortunately for me, Nolan decided he wanted to do some last minute primping in the bathroom at the eleventh hour. Fine, I said. Fine. I understand the need to look good for guests, even if I don’t act on it. So could I really blame my son for wanting to put his best foot forward? I could not. But could I blame my son for not knowing how to put one foot forward in front of the other in a pattern (popularly called “walking”)? Yes I could.
Nolan is both new and terrible at walking. It’s his passion and yet….and yet he sucks at it. He falls somewhere between 10,000-20,000 times an hour. He cannot yet stand up OR sit down on his own (WTF?!) but once on his feet he is able to run like a drunken colt navigating an ocean liner that has hit massive swells. He’s a kamikaze with vertigo and legs made of dough.
So it should have come as no surprise that mere moments before our guests were slated to arrive, Nolan torpedoed his way headfirst into our toilet lid (I think he was running toward the hairdryer for a last minute blow out and missed).
I heard the now familiar THWAK and subsequent yelp. My motherly instincts kicked in (yes, I know that they didn’t kick in when they should have, which was before he torpedoed into a toilet). I ran to my child and scooped him up into my arms. He melted into me, seeking comfort in my bosom. Ok not exactly, but I’m creating a warm picture of domestic love for you. I cuddled my baby, trying to calm down his sobs before the doorbell rang, which I knew would be happening any second.
I pulled my little Nolan off of me to give him a kiss, and then WHAT?!?! I was staring into the face of an episode of CSI. Nolan’s face was covered in blood, his onesie a veritable crime scene. And because I had ever so maternally cradled him, so was my sweater. There we were, Madonna and Child in a Bloodbath. It was gross. And not only was it gross, but I am willing to venture a guess that seeing both the baby and babysitter covered in blood is not the best way to inspire confidence in one’s ability to provide adequate supervision.
The wound itself was a simple bit lip, the actual damage to my child minimal. But the damage to our credibility? You be the judge.
The doorbell rang within 2 minutes of the carnage, which was not enough time for me to change either of our outfits. I was forced to answer the door looking like an extra from The Sopranos, and quickly excused myself to go change my shirt, since I figured the longer I sat there chatting caked in blood the less likely I was to be allowed to babysit.
Next time I get a babysitting gig (Which, can we just pause here a minute? I have a masters in social work. I’m 35 years old. And I’m scoring babysitting gigs on the side now? Good Lord) I will make sure that for at least 30 minutes beforehand I keep Nolan and his little yarn legs in a padded room. We cannot suffer this embarrassment again.
To sum up: not only can I not confidently manage TWO children, I cannot confidently manage ONE child.
In Other News
This series of photos of Nolan and his friend Carys cracks me up! I posted a few of these on Facebook the other day, but here is the full display. I like to call it “Aggressive Baby Love.”
Aggressive Baby Love
Also, on a totally unrelated note, I bought a treadmill! Some of you might recall that a few months ago I wrote a post called The Battle of the Bulge questioning if it was really worth it to try to get in shape when we want to have more kids and I know I’ll be letting myself go all over again when that happens. People had a LOT to say about that, mainly: “Get in shape you lazy slug!” And I myself have come to the same conclusion after an extended period of sloth. I’ll probably put together a series of fitness videos featuring Nolan and me doing some light treadmill dancing in matching mother/son spandex soon.
Get excited.
Jamie B
I’d like to inform your readers that my son didn’t have a drop of blood on him when we picked him up later! 🙂
Liz
True fact. Thanks for the good word, Jamie. I’m pretty sure that’s all anyone can ask for in a babysitter, right?
Mer
Hahaha – nicely done, Liz! Hysterical! Also, I can’t wait for your upcoming series of workout DVDs… eat your heart out, Jane Fonda!
Liz
I think a throwback video series in VHS will do really well, as long as Nolan and I look our best.
Auntie Cat
Looking forward to exercise posts. It’ll be a nice reprisal to our 2012 “Fit as a Fiddle” contest. Booyah!!!!
Liz
That’s right sister! Bring it on!
Casey F
T (my husband) took care of two babies starting when Max was 8 weeks and Mara was 15 weeks (I helped for 3 weeks) for about 5 months. We thought that was intense… but mobility adds SO MUCH COMPLEXITY. We highly recommend child crates, I mean playpen areas, to contain their abundant joy in awkward and aggressive movement.
Liz
T did what?!?!? For love? For money? Why?! That sounds hard is what I’m getting at 🙂 But yes, mobility adds a whole different dimension that I didn’t fully appreciate. I need to get a crate asap.
Carys' grandma
I love the change of expression on Nolan’s face as the reality of the situation dawns on him!!
Liz
Yes! Just seconds before the attack he was so obliviously happy….
Michele
If it makes you feel any better, I’m a licensed social worker, a school therapist, AND just signed up for care.com. Not because I’m due with my first child in March and need a sitter, but because I need some extra income LOL.
Great post! Glad Nolan is okay. The ham comments cracked me up!
Oh, what kind of treadmill did you get? I really want/need to get one.
Liz
Michele we should go into business together – we can do some clinical work/babysitting in one office visit. I think it’s a great business model and not weird at all. I’ll get a name plate made up stat. Oh, and the treadmill is the Weslo G 5.9 – it’s the only one we could find that has good reviews and is well under $1,000. Some people may say fitness is priceless, but I say it has a price tag of $300 tops.
Michele
Excellent! Now I just have to convince my husband to let us move back to Boston. Thanks for the treadmill info – that is my price range!
Erin H.
Well C busted his lip on the coffee table over the holidays, and the adult to mobile baby ratio was 4:1. So I wouldn’t feel too bad for being concerned over being outnumbered. It sounds terrifying.
Liz
Hey Erin! The 4:1 ratio does make me feel better, although I’m sorry C busted his lip. Poor kiddo. Coffee tables might as well be assault rifles for the danger they pose to toddlers.
Krissy @ Pretty Wee Things
Oh mouth injuries are the worst! They bleed enough to make you cry, yet the actual damage is so little you can barely see it (or maybe the blood is the reason you can barely see it).
We had a fall only last week, when I was chasing my son during a game of “catch me if you can”. oops. Needless to say I have banned that game for life.
Toddlers are such a handful! Into EVERYTHING, even the toilet. xxx
Liz
Yes! The mouth injuries are our biggest issue right now. Nolan has had 4 in his first two weeks of walking. And it looks like a total bloodbath, but then when I inspect closer I can barely see anything…. Sorry about your “catch me if you can” injury!” Maybe you can un-ban it in a few years…