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Full-Time Dads;
The Magazine for Caregiver Fathers
Issue 23
When my daughter and son-in-law asked us to babysit our eighteen-month-old granddaughter, my wife and I simultaneously leapt with excitement. It seemed simple. One slight complication surfaced. My wife Adele's vacation began on the fifth day of the watch. When my spouse asked, "Tony, would you mind?" I had to agree or risk branding as insensitive.
A week later, Alee arrived. Besides her parents, the baby's traveling companions consisted of a room full of disposable diapers, assorted sprays, soaps, bottles, cans, jars of foodstuffs, and a case of cereal. All this, for a week-long stay.
My first morning with my granddaughter started smoothly. She slept late. The grandfather clock chimed nine times. Half way through my morning paper she howled, "Mommy! Daddy!" A seasoned professional, it took me only a few seconds to calm her and sense that she needed changing.
This was a good time to put her in the tub to play the bubble bath game. Baby sitting seemed a lot easier than expected. She splashed awhile, but when her fingers started resembling prunes, she asked, "Baba, milk?" Time for diapers. Unlike the terrorizing pins of a quarter century past, these modern diapers crunching into place proved a pleasure.
I smiled. Alee appreciated my efforts. I injected her cup with violet colored vitamins, poured milk, and stirred, following the commands magnetized to the refrigerator. Alee guzzled, her searching eyes fixed on me. I mixed cereal, mild and a half jar of fruit into a coffee sized cup. The measuring line on the cup vanished, forcing my estimation of the amount. My obsession with the posted orders continued.
Alee had no patience for me. She groaned and pointed at the food. I handed her the overflowing bowl. It became obvious that baths and fresh clothing should follow meals. While I fed her, she whimpered again, "Mommy, Daddy?" Talk about loading guilt. What could I say, but..."Mommy and Daddy went in an airplane. A long plane ride. I planned to tap this excuse throughout her parents' vacation. I added, "Baba takes care of you." She giggled. Kids possess a great natural instinct for the absurd. The ridiculous.
I checked the appropriate boxes on the refrigerator menu. The directive jumped to luncheon instructions. A large empty time block remained. Now what? Alee tugged me toward the back door and said, "Pool!" At 10:30 in the morning, with the sun too say to peek out from the submarine grey clouds, I felt no pool-side allure. Instead, I sat in my custom carved rug niche and activated the TV set. Alee waddled across the video screen and pushed the videotape dial. Yankee baseball hero Wade Boggs immediately transformed into a cartoon character. She scrambled back and plopped on my knee.
I watched the silly animations scoot across my TV. Alee turned around and laughed. I smiled on cue. Exhausted, I lost track of a few seconds. An animal shaped cookie protruding from my mouth startled me. My granddaughter didn't realize that grandfathers don't snack during naps. Time to move on, again, I figured.
My modest home proved incapable of restricting this child. Her boundless energy craved the outdoors. "Let's get dressed. We're going to see Pinocchio at the library," I said. I dressed her in a floral outfit, then squeezed her feet into Lilliputian ballet slippers. Alee sprinted. I followed. She handed me a bowed hat with a giant embroidered sunflower. This signaled departure time.
The walk to the library usually took five minutes. We headed out. A few hundred feet closer our goal, Alee said, "Ugh Oh!" I looked down. Both slippers dropped from her feet. I trotted back a few paces and picked them off the steamy summer cinders. We sat on the curb. Propping her up on my knee, I refitted them. A few steps later, they fell again. Time to pick up her slippers. Time to carry this baby the rest of the way.
Alee pointed up. "Hess! Hess!" she yelped. A woman with pale blue jeans tattooed to her horse headed our way. The pleasant stranger smiled as her right hand gently tugged an auburn stained colt. "Hess! Hess!" screeched Alee again. Both horse and owner sauntered closer. The animal glared. Be brave, I thought. Don't show your granddaughter any fear. I stuttered, "May I touch him?" "Sure," answered the beaming owner.
I patted him. The horse snorted. I jumped, Alee wrapped tightly in my arms. The baby giggled. Bravado forced me to touch him again. Barely. The colt snuggled in toward Alee. Edgy, I thanked the horsewoman and continued toward the library. Unfamiliar with this VIP treatment obviously reserved for my grandchild, I belatedly thanked the doorman. Entering the library, we veered sharply right. Instinctively, Alee sprinted toward the children's section. A paper-mache dinosaur greeted us. As we craned our necks beneath the green monster's belly for a few moments, Alee scrutinized it.
To my surprise, I found another library, the children's library, nestled within the adult library. Somehow, this fantasy world eluded me during past visits. Through Alee's eyes, this new world emerged.
After visiting Pinocchio, we found ourselves in the midst of a toddler traffic jam. I discovered Main Street, or more accurately, "Main Rug". I took over a chair in a remote fringe, and read a picture book to my granddaughter. Normally, this would have pleased her. After the first page she wriggled out of my arms and scooted away. Slavishly, I followed along this child-friendly obstacle course.
Children scattered about the faded umber rug, staking claim to different territories. Some surrounded themselves with blocks, other manipulated alphabets, still others pushed toy trucks. Some chatted. Alee wrapped her arms around a plastic shoe box. She stumbled toward me. Talk about the strength of ants. Babies carry their weight too. She stared into my eyes and grunted. My granddaughter seemed to communicate, "I want this!" Confirmation of this came when my opening of the shoe box prompted her to sit immediately, and dump its contents. She tugged at my right knee until I sat I became a player in her game. She built. She wrecked. She rebuilt. I passed her the puzzle pieces and blocks scattered around the room.
A curious visitor with enormous, royal blue eyes waddled over. She stared at us, at the blocks. She plopped down and joined the construction gang. Another inquisitive one, with animated hazel eyes hopped over. She too sat. They all constructed feverishly. They spoke a strange tongue which they sometimes seemed to understand. Finally, two mothers walked over. The first commented on Alee's hat. The other added, "Your little girl is so bright."
I confessed. "Actually, I'm her grand dad." I felt obliged to offer a lengthy monologue on my reasons for babysitting. One mother smile sympathetically. The other yawned.
Alee's four guests left abruptly. I started putting the blocks back into the box. Alee helped. My granddaughter threw in the last block. Then, she dumped it. Alee rebuilt. The new structure looked like ancient Greek ruins. She smugly grinned at me. Her creation obviously pleased her.
Promising cookies and toys, I cajoled Alee into leaving. At the exit door, another patron said, "Your child is so cute. Must be great seeing things through your child's eyes."
Too exhausted to explain again, I acknowledged her complement with a simple thanks.
Nap time for Alee. Baba needed one too. My hat's off to full-time parents. Now, I know why God generally earmarks children for the young.
Copyright 1996 F. Anthony D'Alessandro
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