Friday, June 27, 2008

Desperately Seeking Spawn (Sitter)

Last night was my debut back onto the sand volleyball team at the local bar. I've played for 5 or 6 summers now, and would miss it terribly if I couldn't play. I even played last year, sans beer, up until the 7month mark. I'm not sure which was more difficult, the glasses of 7-Up or giant protruding belly to contend with each Thursday night.

Last night someone said, "hey, have you had your baby?"
W. T. F.

Anyhow, the Dad had dude plans last night, so I asked an "auntie" to come over to hang with the lil' dude while I played. I talked to her late in the day yesterday, and when she called, I thought she was a transvestite truck driver calling in between hits of rancid weed and gulps of ammonia. "What's wrong with your voice?" Auntie, "I am sick. I have actually coughed up blood . . . "

So, I asked the sweet neighbors next door last minute if they would watch the babe for an hour while I went to the bar wearing my beer t-shirt. (And, yes, my team is sponsored by Bud Light. Love it.) They more than happily obliged and she was sitting contently outside in the grass watching their teenaged girls swim in the pool when I got back. Neighbor mom said, "The lil' dude is the SA-WEEE-TEST baby we've ever met. We simply adore her." They went on to say how much the lil' dude loved E., their youngest daughter and how much she would love to babysit her.

And this is an option the Dad and I have always considered and hoped to utilize. We want our time alone when we need it and have nothing against teenaged babysitters. Except, I once was one.

I know they rummage through your things.
I know they watch too much MTV.
I know they will eat all the good food and hide the wrappers in their jean pockets.
I know they will not put your kids to bed how or when you want them to.
I know they will charge you a lot. A lot more than YOU got paid in the day.
I know your baby will come to really, really love them, maybe more than they do you, even.

Those are the things we'll have to overcome I guess. I simply cannot ask an "auntie" to watch the lil' dude every time we need someone because she'll likely be one of the people I'll want to spend my free time with. We're having a giant party at the house next week in honor of the Dad's 30th and America's birthdays. I have already lined up an "auntie", prego-friend to take the lil' dude home with her at both their bedtimes of 8pm in exchange for her leaving the drunk H behind. I promise, babe, you're getting the better deal . . .

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