My timing is a bit off... I was trying to save this for the month of September... but here goes nothing...
This is my 300th blog post!
And the month of September will be my blog's 2 year birthday! And yes, we are going to have a party all month long because I love birthdays! I have free books, Cd's, cool t-shirts, and other fun things to give away. And perhaps if you are in Dallas, we will all meet for none other than... cupcakes and sprinkles of course.
So today I feel the need to publicly apologize to anyone I have ever babysat for.
I am sorry.
Of course you knew when there were Cheetos missing from your pantry and cookies missing from their packages. Of course you knew when a TV dinner or two disappeared. Of course you knew I watched MTV all night when you came home and it was still accidentally on in your bedroom. Oops, did I say your bedroom? I meant to say your living room.
Of course I never went in your bedroom and through your closets. I never ate your cookies and drank your soda on your big, plush, comfy king size bed while your children slept. I never made phone calls or scoured through your uber nice make-up. I never checked out your toilet reading materials or searched the last thing pulled up on your Internet. Your mortgage bills laying out? Of course I never let my eyes wonder all over that. Of course not.
I am having all kinds of babysitting flashbacks coupled with complete over-the-hill feelings as we just left Annie for the first time with hired help. (That's right Paul Allen, not the grandparents, but hired help, shameful I know.)
Did you know that for the mere price of about $30 bucks you can just leave your kid for the night? And now I realize how dangerous this is. I can only begin to imagine how many parents have been tempted to pay the $30 and skip town...
Last night was our first time to leave Annie Boo with a sitter. We paid our $30 bucks and left our kid with two girls who don't even have their driver's license yet. I mean, what if they needed to get to the hospital?
It wouldn't have mattered... they were trying to order pizza from the delivery store two towns over. Finding the hospital would be a long shot.
Of course these girls are responsible, great kids, and we love them. We really do. They are the best out there. But still, they are kids. And I am pretty sure they have not taken that fake baby doll they give you at the hospital during mom qualification classes and given it passionate CPR with all their hearts and souls like they were saving the last living whale in the ocean.
I can friggin save my baby with CPR if I have to. These girls couldn't even get the pizza delivered. It took four calls. Which "totally bummed them out because Zack was the one who answered the phone and we talked to him in our British accents the first time and when we had to call back three other times to figure out the address we totally had to keep using our English accents."
Oh good Lord I am sorry Annie.
I got these texts as the night progressed:
"If we were going to give someone the street name, what would that be?"
"Oh my gosh, your baby is a total TV junkie! Ha! That's so funny."
I get home and our baby is sound asleep. She went down at seven. Her bed time is nine. What... did she suddenly turn narcoleptic? I don't even want to think about how many secret diaries, computer files, and closets they could have looked through in this extra time. Or how many of my double chocolate Milano cookies they could have eaten during their spare time (OK, I'll be honest... I counted... they only had 5 of them).
The DVD that was supposed to be used in case of emotional emergencies... the 31 minute secret weapon miracle worker that mom hides for really bad occasions... yeah, that one... they played on repeat three times in a row. Good lord. 90 minutes of TV for a 4 month old? What about the books I laid out? The baby flash cards? The play mat? The little vibrating seat where I told them you can sit her in and you can make up voices and funny faces and teach Annie about people from different countries and rain forest animals? What about those things? Was she that emotionally beside herself?
This kid does not stand a chance when it comes to imagination and outside playtime. She is already hooked on the hard stuff. 90 minutes of TV in one night. I don't even want to know how this happened or what possessed them to play the video on repeat. Three times. Three stinkin times. I don't even want to know.
When I changed her out of her footy PJ's this morning her legs were purple-ish. I'm not kidding, a little veiny and purplish. She still had her socks on underneath the footies. Her toes were covered in sweat. Her little toes could've died in her sleep. Who does this? And, apparently, when a baby goes down two hours earlier than they are supposed to, this is reflected in their waking time. They go by hours, not the clock.
5:46 a.m. this morning she was smiling and ready to face the world. Crippled toes and all. I was ready to throw up. I don't do mornings. I don't think I do babysitters either. Next time I will stick her in my big purse and bring her into the pub where our friend's surprise birthday party was at. Purple legs or baby in a pub? I mean, I'm really not sure what is the worse of the two evils.
Ryan says the bar cannot be set very high for such nights out. The goal is just to make sure the baby stays alive. Well duh. But for ten dollars an hour and 5 cookies I expect her to know the alphabet and Presidents by the time I get home.
Instead, now she just knows my secret weapon that I have been saving for emotional maladies. Heck, she probably has it memorized by now.
All this to say...
Did people really trust me with their children?
Were they on drugs? Were they that desperate? Is it really legal to leave your baby with people who order their pizza with British accents and simply state the address as, "you know, the Oak apartment in Irving"?
Irving has 201,927 people living in it.
Never again people. Never again.