The longest day
The beginning of the day was marked by a soft
incomprehensible sound, dahhh, which was emitted from the baby monitor next to
my bed at 6:30 am on a cold, dark December morning. My first grandchild, Jack,
a boy of eighteen months with endless energy, was about to put me to the test.
Here I was on the brink of retirement and I had volunteered for five days of
babysitting while my daughter and her husband went away for a short and well
deserved vacation. My wife, Marta, was already in the shower since she was
going to her job early and would return late in the evening. I was to face the
entire week by myself. How hard could it be, I thought to myself. I already had
a few hours of experience at my daughter’s house and had mastered feeding,
changing diapers and preparing Jack for a nap. He was always sweet during those
encounters and I did not anticipate any problems now that I was in my own
house.
As my wife rushed about
preparing to leave for work, she dictated a litany of things I had to remember
to do: how to prepare the three main meals, the best snacks to keep Jack happy, use the whole milk not the 2 percent
milk, find the box of raisins he liked to carry around with him, use the winter
jacket, hat and gloves for the walk outside, apply the dry skin cream to his
legs twice a day, play the music tape of
songs that he loves to hear, wash the blueberries he craves, sprinkle
the oatmeal with cinnamon sugar, steam some vegetables like peas or
broccoli, make sure that the cooked food
was not too hot, tie double knots on his shoe laces, and this went on until she
finally disappeared through the door with a wave and cheery goodbye. Why did
she look so happy to escape to work?. A minute later she was back to remind me
to give Jack some prune juice, mixed with water, to help with constipation.
Thank you, earth mother. I will obey.
It was now 7 am and Jack had spent a half of
an hour speaking in animated tones to his three stuffed friends, a pink pig
with an extended neck which he always clutched firmly, a floppy blue dog, and a
mysterious purple space creature. Well, he looked happy to see me and lifted up
his arms so I could pick him up. Before you could say boo, I had changed and
dressed him and we were on the way to the kitchen to have our first manly
breakfast. As he downed his bottle of milk, I cooked some oatmeal for both of
us. The secret of good oatmeal is to make it creamy by using 1 part oats, 2
parts water, 2 parts milk and a pinch of salt. You can also add cold milk at
the end to cool it down faster or to make it creamier. I added cinnamon sugar
to Jack’s portion and some raisins to mine. He already mastered holding a spoon
and was able to get the oatmeal into his mouth most of the time. I then
recalled that my own daughters, especially Jack’s mother, gave me fits by using
the spoon to catapult oatmeal across the room or simply sprayed me with a mouthful of the mush. By
comparison, Jack was an angel. He loved his oatmeal and was not prone to waste
it. Here was the boy I never had.
And so, fortified with oats, we started the
day at about 7:30. For the next thirty minutes, I followed Jack as he propelled
various toys in a circle through all the rooms, always in the same direction.
During his walks, Jack would pick up any item he could reach and then drop it,
followed by an innocent exclamation of uh-oh. A plate was broken, the thermostat
cover flew off the wall, a plant was ripped out of its pot, among other items.
During his walk, Jack carried on a continuous foreign monologue. I actually
figured out what some of his words meant. Dow was a command to be put down or
to be picked up. Pi was for piano which he wanted to sit at and play for a
minute every time he passed it. Du was for the dog he kept trying to pet, only
to be met by a growl from our 14 year old cairn terrier, Binkley. Ju was for
juice that he liked to drink. When he passed the kitchen, Jack would go to the
pantry and point to the box of raisins. If he did not get them, there was a
protracted period of wailing, crying and pointing. It was now only 8 am and I
already felt like I had been circulating around the house for hours. Then my
mother-in-law appeared from her bedroom and an unanticipated factor developed.
Zenobia, Marta’s, mother has been living with
us for nearly a year. She was in great physical shape but her memory was
failing. Since I go to work during the week, I was usually not alone with her
in the house. Now I was confronted with an older person who recognized Jack and
wanted to help, to feed, to dress and to entertain him. I suddenly found myself
taking care of two people instead of just one. I could not leave Jack alone
with Tapti, as we called her, since I was not sure what she would do with him.
She wanted repeatedly to feed him since she would forget that he already ate.
As I followed Jack around the house, I was trailed by Tapti. She kept up a constant
flow of suggestions of what I should do with Jack. Maybe he is hungry, maybe he
is cold, maybe he needs a new diaper and is it time for his nap. So I was
chasing Jack and at the same time explaining events to Tapti as she followed.
In effect, I had a baby siting job in front and a long term care assignment to
the rear. In desperation, I dressed Jack
in his winter jacket and took him out of the house for a long walk. We walked
together hand in hand around the whole block. Each of my steps were equal to about
eight of his steps so our trip took nearly an hour. By then it was 10:30 am and
Jack was ready for a nap. It felt as if a week had gone by already.
As I changed Jack’s diaper and prepared him
for sleepy time , I stroked his head to calm him down. Then I gave him his
three favorite stuffed toys to hold and put him in the crib. He looked at me
like an angel and said bye-bye. He appeared ready for a nap. I closed the door,
went downstairs quietly and turned on the baby monitor. I could hear Jack
talking to his pig and dog, probably relating his morning adventures. Then he
began to cry and shout. Of course, Tapti
demanded to know why Jack was crying
and she wanted to rescue him. She insisted that he had been crying for
an hour and not the five minutes that had actually elapsed. I had to tell
myself to relax, that I was dealing with a senior citizen. Luckily, as we were
arguing about the facts from our respective points of view, Jack fell
asleep. Tapti went to her room to read
the paper. I took out my portable computer to document my first adventures in
babysitting. After a few minutes, Tapti walked in and asked what day it was,
what I was doing at home, and where was Marta. She was perplexed to discover
that Jack was visiting and sleeping upstairs. I asked her if she would like
some tea.
By mid-day, our young prince was again awake
and chatting up his stuffed pets. When I retrieved him, he was quite stinky but
I was up to the diaper task. After I brought him downstairs, he ran to the
stereo and kept repeating koo-koo, a refrain from one of his favorite songs
about potatoes, butter and sour cream. I
had to run that tape at least ten times while he had a bottle of milk and I
prepared some scrambled eggs and steamed broccoli. He ate everything without
protesting. Tranquility was established until he started his circuit through
the rooms again. Jack was now opening all the cabinet doors that I still needed
to child-proof, found my guitar in the corner and persisted to pluck the
strings, beat the piano keys without mercy, tipped over some chairs, managed to
break another plate and nearly fell off backwards from the rocking horse. It
was only 1:30 pm so another walk outside was in order. This time I got to show
him off to some of my neighbors, tried out the swings in a local park, and let
him chase some friendly squirrels. After returning home, I let Tapti entertain
him with more potato music while stuffing him with cheerios, grapes and prune
juice. By the time his 4 pm nap arrived, I felt emotionally drained.
Unfortunately, Jack was not about to take a nap and after 20 minutes of mild
hysteria and admonitions from Tapti, I rescued Jack. He happily ate a banana
and then pretended he was little Attila, sequentially pillaging each room while
babbling in a foreign tongue. I took several aspirins and vitamins and had a
cup of warm milk. I really began to admire the resilience of mothers and wanted
to write a poem in their praise.
It was now 6 pm and I warmed up some leftover
tuna casserole which Jack devoured with gusto along with a bottle of milk. He
had raisins for dessert and, after reading him some stories, it was finally
time for bed. As I put on his pajamas, my faithful wife Marta returned from
work and asked with glee how her little Jack behaved today. I told her that we
had a good time together and were looking forward to new adventures the next
day. Now that it was over, the day seemed quite successful. I had my turn in
the mill of motherhood and survived my longest day.
From Tuesday to Friday, I learned the meaning
of the movie Groundhog Day since the events of Monday were repeated over and
over each day. Somehow I was more prepared to cope with the monotony and
repetition. And a miracle happened with master Jack. On Tuesday, he walked down
the sidewalk without holding on to my hand. By Wednesday he was running as fast
as I walked and when I tossed him a football, he caught it repeatedly. By
Thursday we were tossing the ball back and forth and by Friday we played one on
one in the park and he was dodging through my legs like a real running back. He
was a 33 inch tall sports phenomena and I was sure that he would get a college
football scholarship. What a reward I would get from my son in law when I
delivered this fully trained football player. In addition, Jack started to pick
out melodies on the piano. First with one hand and then he started to use the
complex chords I still struggle with today. He was a little Chopin in a diaper.
And the guitar was practically smoking as his fingers ran over the strings at
the speed of the music played in the movie Deliverance. What was going on here,
I asked myself. Why was I lying in this bed in a white room? The nurse told me
that I had slipped on a carpet and knocked myself out while chasing Jack in the
house. I had a mild concussion. She was a very good looking nurse and I am sure
she knew what she was talking about but I still wanted to know if Jack needed
his diaper changed. And could she play that music tape with the song about the
potatoes, butter and sour cream. It had a great beat and the accordion melody
was to die for. And could I have some prune juice in one of those sippy cups.
After all, I was a professional baby sitter.
Richard Legeckis
Professional Baby-sitter
NOAA Oceanographer
The events of Monday are true but rest of the
week was a daydream.
 |
| My Dad and his two charges, Jack and Tapti (my grandmother). This photo was actually taken on Christmas Eve 2002 shortly after the events described above - you can see John's mom laughing in the background. My dad has his vodka bottle in hand for the endless pours during Christmas Eve dinner. He'd just used the magnifying glass to examine the engagement ring on my sister's finger. This photo makes me smile. |
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