Thursday, March 25, 2010

No, seriously. I will steal your babies.

I babysat Aviva’s niece recently. I don’t think that I mentioned it.

I grew up in an area with a sizeable Jewish population. Aviva’s family is very involved in the Jewish community. I swear, if I know a Jew who lives/lived in or around where we grew up, Aviva or Aviva’s mother or Aviva’s sister-in-law knows him or her. They’re invited to a boatload of bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs and weddings. And some of these bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs and weddings? Frigging huge. (Not like other cultures/religions don’t have enormous events. Am I being insensitive here?)

And when these events reach a certain size, pretty much everyone who Aviva’s family know – neighbors and friends and acquaintances and whatever – is invited.

Which is how I get asked to watch the baby.

I’m the only gentile that they know.

Okay, no. That’s exaggerating. But, really, they know that I’m not getting invited and I’m a mildly capable babysitter, so I get the call.

LOVE IT.

Seriously. A few hours with a baby all to myself? I would pay them to let me watch her. (Even though it is usually the other way around. Which is awkward. Aviva’s brother all “here, take this,” and I’m all “no, you are not paying me for this. We’re friends, we go way back.” And then he’s trying to stuff money into my purse and, ugh, hate those last few minutes before I leave.)

She’s 13 months old now and very, very busy. She’s in everything and a complete wild woman and, OMG, so much fun.

Except their house? It isn’t babyproofed? Not really? With the assistance of three 3-pannel baby gates, they’ve made some sort of a baby cage in their den. And, I guess she must spend all of her time in there, because the rest of the house doesn’t exactly seem age-appropriate for the little monster. With the glass tsatskes and the uncovered outlets and whatnot.

Anyway. Not judging. Just observing.

We had so much fun. Except for the part where I didn’t get her to bed until 10:00. (Babysitting fail!) But she was completely pleasant in her refusal to go to sleep. No tears. I couldn’t complain.

The best part of the night was when I was laying on the floor with her, sometime way after when I should have put her in bed. I was on my stomach, my head propped up on my fists, watching for a sign that she was at least tiring a little bit and that there was some hope that I’d get her to sleep before midnight. She was bumbling around her baby cage being very busy and banging blocks together and pressing buttons that play creepy, hypnotic toy music and all of that. Not tired. Not even a little bit.

She’s crawling around and doing her thing and, suddenly, she stops right in front of me. Drops the ball that she has in her hand. And she sticks her chubby hand out and, where my back is exposed, she wipes her hand across it. Once. Twice. Three times.

It took me a second to figure out what she was trying to do.

Wipe off my tattoo.

Apparently she’s a pretty clean-cut kid. Minus the bedtime rebellion.

4 comments:

Accidentally Me said...

OK, first we need to discuss your little "Oh, maybe I really do like him" Tweet from earlier...

Second, bar Mitzvahs can be RIDICULOUSLY huge. Way bigger than weddings in some cases.

And third...I see that little baby is doing her best to cleanse you of your sluttiness:-P

Kari said...

I second the discussion around your tweet... :)

Mrs. Architect said...

Um...you have a tattoo?? How did I not ever know that?????

OC said...

Cute!!!

And apparently I need to get back on Twitter!

 
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