Super Nanny

My most recent foray into the part-time working world involves three of my favorite past times: eating, drinking, and sleeping. Except that I don't really get to do any of those things. I facilitate those activities for a 4 month old. Its true...I am a nanny. (I guess what I really am is more of a baby sitter since it's only a few days a week...but nanny sounds cooler so I'm going with it k?)

I was asked by my cousin and her husband (news of my unemployment is hot gossip in my family) to watch their 4 month old baby a few times a week while they act like real grown ups and make money at their jobs. I jumped at the chance because a) It's consistent work at a decent salary, b) I could apply for jobs while the baby slept/bounced around in some random piece of baby entertainment furniture, and c) the baby is pretty freaking cute and not one of those monster infants. So far things have been going really well and the little lad (whom I've decided to call Stewie) and I get along swimmingly. But I have observed a few things which I find amusing.


-Babies should be spoken to like adults. Don't patronize them. If anyone saw the E*Trade baby commercial during the Super Bowl you'll know why I'm advocating this. In an effort to be entertained (and get him a commercial gig), I'm trying to teach Stewie to be a day trader with an adult vocubulary...so I always speak to him as though he were such. But don't worry...I watch my language. I don't want my little protegee to wreck his career with a sailor mouth like mine.


-Babies are complicated creatures who require complicated supplies. I can't remember being a baby...and I doubt you can either. But I have a sneaking suspicion our infancies were much simpler than a baby born in 2008. I have never in my life seen so many types of bottles, formulas, baby foods, diapers, and clothes. At one point during my first day on the job while making a bottle for little Stewie, I looked at him while measuring scoops of formula and said "Can you tell I have no idea what I'm doing ?" to which I'm positive I heard him mutter "Bitch please, mix my drink faster. I've got a nap and a crap to finish up by 3."


-Baby food/formula is revolting. I know that babies have a pretty easy life which is why I would like to be one again...but I have a lot of sympathy for them because their nourishment is absolutely gag-inducing. First, whoever invented formula was either a mad genius or a malicious asshole. I understand that it is great for babies because of the vitamins, etc. but it honestly tastes like rotten oatmeal-flavored chalkdust. And I cringe everytime I subject Stewie to it...although he doesn't seem to mind one bit. His reaction to formula and squash baby food is akin to mine with margaritas and loaded nachos: we both go ape-shit.


-Babies make me uber-cautious. I'll admit here and now that one day, yes I do want to be a mother (like after I get a job, home, husband, and Dyson vacuum cleaner). But practicing with Stewie has made me realize what kinds of things will change when I do have my own child. First of all, I'm will become a defensive driver instead of an offensive one (which I currently am). When Stewie rides in my car I find myself analyzing which roads would make for the safest route to our destination. And today I nearly shit myself when an 80 year old pulled out in front of me. Instead of my usual pissed off feelings of having to slow down for them I was geniunely scared and said "Heelllo!! I have a BABY in the car!!" (But remember...I didn't swear or use the finger because I'm teaching Stewie to be a gentleman).

Additionally, I'm really afraid I'm going to do something wrong to Stewie. I've nearly had a panic attack twice about the type and temperature of food I'm giving him (OMG...what if he's allergic to peas!) and was convinced that I was going to bruise him by burping him too hard. I also thought that I may have broken his femur while putting him into a onesie. In case you're wondering, I didn't.


Babies are funny...and you shouldn't lose your sense of humor around them. If there's one thing I've noticed...it's that Stewie cracks me up in the weirdest ways and I love him for it. Case in point: in one short day he spit an entire mouthful of (bleh!) squash baby food on me, he vomited without warning down my leg, and filled his diaper with the most horrendous toxic waste I have ever seen (I swear to God). But all I could do was laugh...and I don't know why.

I also had to keep my sense of humor today at the doctor's office with him. When we arrived the nurses asked me to take his clothes off so they could properly weight and measure and poke thermometers into him (more sympathy from me). So I did as I was told then waited maybe 2 minutes in the examining room with him. When I doctor came in he goes "Oh...you're the babysitter. Well my first bit of advice is that babies get cold very quickly and you need to have clothes on him." I dressed Stewie...again worrying that I was harming him. Then I soon realized this doctor was a certifiable nutjob asswipe because even after Stewie was in 3 layers the doctor continued to berate me for letting him get cold. When Stewie started to cry he said "See...he's cold." No dick...he's crying because you just jammed a tongue depressor down his throat that's why. And look...now he's sweating. Poor Stewie. I couldn't wait to get him out of there.

So, at any rate, lil' Stew and I are becoming fast friends and he always listens to my troubles with rapt attention. Someday (hopefully soon) when I procure full-time employment I'll look back with appreciation to that little guy and thank him for teaching me all he did...namely how to hold my breath for 3 straight minutes while changing a diaper.