Mommy Mania

Last night was the opening night preview party for my Junior League's Mistletoe and Moss holiday market and Aaron and I used this week night event as an opportunity to test the waters with a non-grandparent babysitter.

This was inevitable since the ladies at the daycare have literally been fighting over who would eventually get the chance to watch Pumpkin after hours. I've had phone numbers covertly slipped into my bottle bag, girls meeting me outside and talking in hushed whispers to get directions to my home, and even one lady doing a drive-by to make sure she knew where I lived. Sounds crazy but this is no exaggeration. I finally picked one and made the deal (in the hall where nobody could see, of course).

I set the date with the sitter a couple weeks in advance and felt good about it. We "had a sitter" as I have heard parents say in the past. I tried those words out. Yeah, we had a sitter.

Well, as the days started ticking down I started slowly freaking out. It was a long building, slow boiling freakout. I didn't even recognize it in myself at first. I'd have a fleeting thought about who this girl really was. Then I would talk myself down remembering that she takes care of Pumpkin every day and the nursery has run a criminal background check on her. Calm restored. Then, another thought like "wait I don't even know her last name, I can't report to the police that someone named 'Miss Brittney' kidnapped my baby." Then, "Somer, the daycare knows her last name, as well as her address, her work history, her family contacts, her social security number..." Whew, deep breath.

As you can guess, these moments of insanity began to mount as the day approached. The night before, I gathered every possible item that the babysitter would possibly need to care for Pumpkin from bottles to towels and laid them out on the kitchen counter in the order that they should be needed. I laid out her nightgown, measured bottle water, and organized her toys. Then I got started on "the note."

The note started out as a responsible parent's effort to advise the babysitter of emergency contacts. I jotted down my number, Aaron's number, and my parents numbers. Then, while I was at it, I jotted down a few notes about our household - the dogs' names and identification of Pumpkin's favorite pacifier (which was laid out second from the end in my display of Pumpkin paraphernalia). Then, while I was at it I might as well go ahead and write out a detailed schedule of every minute between 6:00 and 10:00 PM. I mean, this girl needs to know that between 6:30 and 7:00 Pumpkin either likes to sleep or play. So there it was, an entire piece of notepad covered in notes and numbers. I felt relieved and finally went to bed.

The big day finally arrives and I am bragging to my friends at work about all my meticulous planning. They are all looking at me in that sad way of friends who have to tell you your boyfriend is cheating on you or something equally as painful and embarrassing. One of them finally breaks the silence to tell me that I am going to get "a reputation" amongst the babysitters. Apparently, there is an underground babysitter mob that spreads the word on crazy parents and I was to be its next target if I didn't destroy the note immediately.

I pondered this. I really did. But I decided that if the babysitter mob didn't appreciate what I was doing for them and didn't want to watch my Pumpkin then who needs 'em. I looked my note over again and was very self-satisfied. I straightened the row of necessary miscellany and got ready for my evening out and the arrival of the sitter at 5:30 PM for a walk-through before the 6:00 PM pea-feeding.

5:30 PM comes and no babysitter. Pumpkin is getting a little fussy, which is odd because 5:30 PM is playtime with only a 5% chance of fussiness. I try to distract her with her toys but the fussing mounts. (A side note: Pumpkin's fussing this week now includes not only some serious blowing but also a shrill high-pitched shriek which is absolutely deafening). By about 5:35 it is evident that Pumpkin is starving. How that is possible in light of the 6:00 feeding I do not know but I try to hold her off so that the schedule is not thrown off.

By 5:37, I gave up and handed her over reluctantly to Aaron who was waiting with a jar of peas. As he feeds her, I start making changes to the schedule - marking through the 6:00 feeding and attempting to move every item on the schedule up by exactly 23 minutes. As I'm drawing arrows and making adjustments I finally recognize the brink of absolute insanity right before me. I mean, seriously Somer? At 6:30 she likes to either play or nap? Really? Aren't those the only things she every likes to do other than eat?

I rip the note up and throw it away just as the babysitter is ringing the doorbell. I jot down the emergency numbers, open the door, show her Pumpkin's room, and point her towards the pizza we left for her. I feel oddly unburdened. We end up having a wonderful time, I got no frantic phone calls, and returned home to a well-fed, bathed, and happy baby who was ready for kisses from mama and daddy and then bed (where she slept all night long).

I'm sure this won't be my last act of motherly insanity (nor was it my first in 6 short months) but at least I won't have the babysitter mafia after me.