Oh, Baby

I got THE CALL yesterday from my son: Could I babysit Michela for a couple of hours? Michela is only six weeks old, the delight of her parents' hearts, and our first grandchild. And she hasn't been left with anyone yet. Could I? Of course, I could! It means breaking an appointment with my dad, making me feel guilty, but this is serious: I am entrusted with this precious child for a few hours while her parents are busy.

Since I am to be there for several hours, I pack my water bottle, a small lunch, crossword puzzles, a magazine to read while baby sleeps, cell phone and camera, figuring I'd want to document this day. I also bring my hat, just in case we go out for a walk. I pack everything in my Trader Joe's bag, along with a packet of Kleenex and a fine-tip pen for the crosswords.

I tell New Dad I'll be there in plenty of time to get instructions from him and New Mommy: what time and how much to feed her; how to mix the formula; how long to keep her up after she eats; how she'll let me know if she needs to be changed; whether or not she needs a blanket in her crib; keep the little mittens on so she doesn't scratch herself; socks are optional. I am ready. Mommy and Daddy leave, and we two are alone at last.

Baby and me. I won't have to share the holding time with anyone. We'll just sit and rock. Almost as soon as we are alone, she gives that little cry signaling a diaper change might be in order. Yup. There is that tell-tale green stripe on the Pamper. Back in the day, babies wore cloth diapers, covered by rubber pants. It was pretty easy to check for a wet diaper: wet or not wet. Now with the super-absorbent, soft disposables, one has to look for the yellow-turned-green stripe. If there is no stripe to check, the diaper still has to come off, just in case. Check for wetness and refasten if it's still dry. Michela seems to love the changing table. It signals to her that she'll be comforted and comfortable again. She lies there, cooing and smiling, completely content while I unsnap and resnap her pink, flowered onesie.

Soon, she's hungry. New Mom has left the first bottle ready for me. Michela happily slurps down half her bottle, acquiesces to some gentle burping, and finishes off the last couple of ounces. My instructions are to keep her awake for at least twenty minutes after she eats. Not to worry. She isn't interested in sleeping. We talk; we rock; we dance around a bit; I take pictures of her. We rock some more, as I sing to her. Suddenly, she is inconsolable, and that's when the phone rings. New Mom is checking to see how everything is going. Really, we're fine, I say. Don't worry about us. Stay as long as you need to, I say. I run through my routine again: diaper check, rocking, singing, and the second bottle. She finishes the bottle, coos and smiles but still doesn't doze off.

New Mom comes home, and I reluctantly hand over Michela who snuggles against her mommy. A quick diaper change, and Michela sleeps in her mother's arms.

New Mom thanks me for helping. I gather my undrunk water, unworked crosswords, and unread magazine and quietly close the door behind me. No thanks needed; the pleasure is all mine.