Babysitting Blues

The Punk’s best friend had her baby yesterday. I was wondering how that little woman was going to push a full term baby out, but I should have known. Little woman = little baby. No 8 pounder for her! Lucky beotch!

Anyway, The Man and I were lucky enough to be babysitters last night. Not just for The Baby, but for The Baby’s little friend as well. And he’s a BOY! I don’t know how to do boys, so I was eternally grateful that The Man was there to help me with that part of it. I love that Man! *sigh*

The Baby is sick as a dog, but Grammy can handle the nebulizer, the meds, the snot.

Right?!

The first hour starts out just fine. The Boy Baby is sleeping in his car seat, The Baby is getting her hugs and kisses from her Grammy and Grampa, pulling out her toys and crawling on the floor, pulling herself up on us. Just being her usual cuteness!
The Boy Baby wakes up and not seeing anyone he really knows, starts crying a little. He’s a good boy for the most part, and I’ve had him at our house before, so I wasn’t a complete stranger. I picked him up and snuggled him to help him feel better. The Baby comes over and starts whacking him in the foot, so here’s Grammy; “Be nice, he just woke up honey, be nice.” And hug the poor Boy Baby. The Baby got mad or something and started tearing socks off the Boy Baby. Can they be jealous at this age? Sheesh.

The Man and I get the food out and start feeding Boy Baby. Of course, The Baby wants some, so we give HER a little, until she remembers that she doesn’t LIKE baby food and rubs her mouth on everything within reach. Need a towel for that. The damned dog thinks this is his moment before he gets yelled at. Boy Baby finishes his food, and The Baby starts acting all fussy, so I give her a bottle of water which she drools most of, need a towel for that.

I give The Baby her medicine, which she apparently doesn’t like, need a towel for that, and put the Boy Baby in the jumper. I hold The Baby and give her the nebulizer which won’t stay on unless I wrap it around her ponytail. I end up snapping the band on her forehead and she looks at me like I did on purpose.

I’m starting to sweat.

She doesn’t want it on and turns her head, knocking it off her face. She’s grabbing at it. The Man says to try it without it being on her head or lack thereof. So I’m holding the mask over her, she turns her head so much that I’m getting dosed with it too. Well… that’s ok, I could use it! She falls asleep and the Boy Baby is still in the jumper screaming and drooling all over the place, need a towel for that, having a good time.

The Baby starts coughing in her sleep. Then all the sudden, coughs so hard that she throws up. Great, gonna need a towel for that. The Man goes in and gets a wet towel and is trying to get puke out of my hair and from my shirt when The Baby throws up again. Poor girl! The Boy Baby is still safely tucked into the jumper, but wow there’s a lot of drool going on over there. I change my shirt, put my hair up, clean up The Baby, and give her to The Man so I can go make bottles. One for each baby. It’s naptime for someone. Me probably, but I will start with the babies.

I come back in the room just in time to see The Baby sneeze. *sigh* Gonna need a towel for that. Neither baby wants a bottle, so even though I have them both in the playpen lying down with bottles, they both roll and stand up in the playpen. I’m tired! They need to be tired.


PLEASE!!!

I change both diapers and put them on the floor, all the toys are out in front of them, but of course, they want to fight over a water bottle that The Punk put in The Baby’s diaper bag. Ok, it’s been awhile since I’ve had to break up a baby fight?

What? OMG

So The Man takes the water bottle out of the equation and we throw a ball into the mix. They now have more toys than they need. The Man looks over at me. “They are going to have sensory overload here in a minute.” Great. If one of them starts crying, I’m going to cry right along with them, and The Man will leave I’m sure of it!
Another hour goes by; we have toilet paper, and wet towels lying around everywhere. There are empty baby food jars, toys, and wet diapers on the end tables. What the hell happened to our house?

I need a cigarette, I need to go potty, and I needed to do dishes. How does The Punk do this every day? Yes, I know her house is set up to accommodate babies, but wow, didn’t think I was that far off the mark.

FINALLY, The Punk shows up, the babies are happy to see her, probably as much as The Man and I are. We load everyone up and they all go home.

The Man and I are sitting on the couch staring off into space.

“Well, that was fun.” I give The Man THAT look. I’m too tired to smack him.