Adventures in babysitting

I made lists of phone numbers, left money for ordering pizza, laid out darling C.'s favorite toys. I made extra bottles, wrote out feeding instructions and walked the sitter through all of C.'s quirks and favorite things. I was ready for this whole babysitter thing, and I wasn't going to compulsively check my cell phone from the dark theater.

Except I never got that far.

I don't know if it was the face of a stranger, the feeling of abandonment or (most likely) teething, but Clementine awoke from her nap in a hell of a mood and began to scream instantly. We calmed her down enough to leave, confident that once the sitter was alone she would find a way to calm the baby, feed her, knock her back out for a nap (we had given her magic baby Tylenol--a nap in a bottle--for teething pain). But when I called 20 minutes later, the crying had not stopped. Could we enjoy a movie knowing that darling C. was in a fit? Would a babysitter ever come back if we didn't let her know we would bail her out when the going got rough? Of course not. So we sped home, stopping only for a pint of ice cream to enjoy on the couch when and if the crying ever stopped.

And although it was a lot of planning and anticipation for nothing, I wasn't disappointed. Sad and pathetic truth be told, I like hanging out with Nate and Clementine more than just about anything these days. Sure, there are times I would rather pull my hair out than spend another minute at home with them, and there are times I would rather cart around a herd of cats than strap her into her car seat and brave the world, but for the most part they are my new social universe and that's OK with me.

Guilty truth be told, it's not like it's all that relaxing to go out with Nate these days anyway. For one thing, if we're together and alone, who has the baby? I'm still in that phase (which I hear and hope does have an end) where I think we are the only ones who can take care of her just the right way. Moreover, when we are out together I sometimes feel like we are gliding through the outside world in a Clementine bubble. We never really free ourselves from thinking about her, talking about her, wondering about her, sharing stories about her. It's not a bad thing--in fact, it's wonderful and a perfect way to ease myself out of the house. But it doesn't compare to the babyless, husbandless escape that leaves me right up against the outside world, no bubble, no buffer. Those outings feel similar to living in a foreign country--I am a keen observer and yet an outsider. I can see and understand the world around me, but no matter how hard I try, I am never truly a part of it. There is too much of me elsewhere (at home) to ever join in fully and forget myself.

So the movie will wait. Or it will happen without Nate, which sucks but may just be where our life is for now. Why gripe? So we may not see a movie together anytime soon or eat in a restaurant together without a high chair between us. Sure, he won't get to see Blanche with me at the Magic Stick this week, but I'll let him take the Matisyahu show at St. Andrew's Hall next week. We won't take turns going for beer or holding each other's coats for bathroom runs or debating whether or not to buy the opening band's CD, but we do get something different and better. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself this morning as I type away while C. cries in the next room. Her dad has her, so I know she'll be fine.