the noble dukes of york

I don’t remember the last time I held a baby. I’m sure I must’ve held a cousin or a family friend’s baby in the last 16 years, but the last time I’m sure I held a baby was when my little sister was a baby—over 16 years ago. And when my little sister was a baby, I, too, was young, and when I held her it was on the couch, with two blue pillows under my arm that was supporting her neck and one under the arm that was supporting her feet. Really, she was more just lying on my lap.

So, imagine my surprise this morning when the father I was babysitting for plopped his four-month-old baby girl in my arms and said, “Here, why don’t you hold her?” and proceeded to head down the steep, spiral, iron staircase and continue my tour of the house. When I hesitated, he rescued his daughter, but deposited her back in my arms when we got to the bottom. “I guess it’s tricky when you’re not used to it.”

The baby was warmer, and heavier, and softer that I thought she would be, and after I stopped her from screaming, fed her, got spit up on a couple times, and reluctantly changed a poopy diaper, I discovered that she smiled toothlessly when I sang and gave her the same ride on my knees that I must’ve watched my mother give 100 times to my sisters. When I got tired of singing the same tune, I hummed it, and when I got tired of humming it, I racked my brain for other songs and games I remembered my mother playing with my sisters, and when I ran out, I hummed a songless tune as she danced on my knees, still smiling.

Even though she couldn’t tell me what she wanted when she screamed, I preferred her company to her brother’s, who could tell me what he wanted, but most often chose to tell me what he didn’t want. And when I cleaned up his bodily fluids, they were on the carpet, and when he screamed at naptime (rather, an hour later than naptime) and I picked him up and put him in his room, I worried that he would try to run back to his toys, his couch-cushion fort, and the TV. But he was tired like his sister usually was, and finally gave me nearly an hour and a half of peace. And when I heard his door squeak, and his little feet padding up the spiral staircase, I dreaded his return. But he woke up from his nap milder than when he went down, and I got to spend some quality time with him, though he was much more interested in running around and squirming around on the couch cushions with a few of his stuffed animals than he was in playing.

Nevertheless, when their father finally came home, I gave the baby and her brother both hugs, and thankfully left. And when I got home I showered, changed clothes, and napped for an hour and a half. I may not babysit again til I have babies of my own—and hopefully then I will be more prepared. I haven’t changed a real poopy diaper more than a couple times in my life, and I’ve never prepared a bottle of formula. It’s funny, because girls much younger than I have babies, and many families have been started when the mother is my age or younger. But my 7.5 hours today acting as mother were more effective in deterring pregnancy than flour babies or health class or that electronic crying baby I took home in junior high. They’re fun to visit, but right now I’m quite enjoying my peace.