NEW ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING

Although we were a little worried at first, I am happy to report that my husband and I are finally getting the hang of this whole "grandparenting" thing. Not that we were ever terrible. I mean, we did raise three kids of our own, and none of them have yet sued us for malpractice. But a lot has changed since then, and frankly, someone should have forced us to take a refresher course.

Take the first time our son and his wife asked us to babysit Grandchild Number 1. This was a serious error in judgment on their part, possibly attributable to weeks of sleep deprivation. That would also explain why, when we walked in the door, they hurled the baby at us and raced frantically for their car.

Wait a minute!" we called after them. "Any special instructions?"

"They're taped to his forehead," our son shouted. And then they were gone.

The baby immediately began to cry. We stared at him, disconcerted.

"Okay," I said. "Let's not panic. I seem to recall that crying means they're either hungry, or tired, or have a dirty diaper." My husband nodded and peeled the instructions from the baby's head.

"It says here that if the stripe on the diaper is blue, it needs changing."

"There's a stripe?" I unsnapped the baby's onesie and peered at the diaper. There was indeed a stripe, and it was definitely blue. "Wow," I whispered, awestruck. "It's... it's like a miracle."

My husband, though, was afraid to feel too hopeful. "Does it turn blue just for pee? Or does it show...?" I looked at him compassionately. See, he'd never recovered from the time our own firstborn had a truly epic "blowout" while I was at work, and my husband was alone with the baby. When I got home, I found the poor guy huddled on the floor next to the changing table, rocking back and forth and muttering, "The horror. The horror."

As it turns out, this diaper was just wet. "Okay," I said. "So the directions say we're now supposed to apply...butt paste." 

"What the hell is that?" But there it was, right in front of us. A container labeled Butt Paste. The stuff inside looked like spackle, and next to it was what appeared to be a little blue putty knife. My husband examined it.

"So, is this why there wasn't any poop? Are they trying to seal the hole up permanently?" Perhaps remembering the blow-out episode he added, "That would be a very good thing."

"Okay, but what's this?" I picked up a box labeled NoseFrida Snot Sucker. 

Curious, I read the directions: When your baby has a stuffed nose, simply place the tip of the snot straw just below its nostril. Put the mouthpiece in your own mouth and then gently suck out the snot. I threw the box down, horrified. "THIS IS THE MOST TWISTED THING I'VE EVER SEEN!"                    

The challenges continued. Play mats that had more lights and buttons and switches than most aircrafts, and that were impossible to turn off.  Bottle warmers that didn't warm bottles.  Swaddling instructions that required me to ask both Siri and Alexa for help.  

And then, finally, it was bedtime. Unfortunately, not for us. We went to the bedroom and put the baby in his Zippity-Zip, a soft potato-sack-like sleep garment that I secretly found myself coveting. Then we turned on the white-noise machine per the instructions, aimed the baby-cam in his direction, and dragged ourself back to the couch where we collapsed and turned on the baby monitor.

That was our biggest mistake. Baby monitor videos are creepy, like something out of a Paranormal Activity movie. Jerky movements. Sudden terrifying disappearances when the kid rolls out of camera range. The damned, maddening white noise. And you find that you can't look away. 'Cause you know if you do, the evil spirits will come and take over the baby's soul. So we clutched each other and just...kept...staring.

That's how the kids found us when they got home.  They gently peeled us off the couch and tucked us tenderly into our car. After a few minutes, my husband turned to me. "We gonna do this again?"

I paused. "Maybe. But I’m gonna need my own Zippity-Zip."