Overcoming your fears

It's not very inspiring when you tell your colleagues that you're babysitting a friend's child that evening and they fall about laughing, clutching their sides as they ask if your friend is clinically insane. Doesn't do much for the old self-confidence. And I was nervous enough as it was, having never babysat before. Yep, 35 years old and this is the first time I've spent an evening alone with a child. While I thought about drafting in reinforcements in the form of more experienced child wranglers, I eventually decided that I needed to do this alone. Jo had asked, she clearly believed that I was capable of not breaking her child, and she's an excellent friend: It had to be done.

Besides, how difficult could it be? I wouldn't be feeding or (please God) changing her; she hasn't yet figured out the Internet, so I wouldn't have to stop her from accessing dodgy Web sites; and she can't crawl yet, which means that my Hollywood-movie-induced fear that I would turn my back for just a few seconds to answer the phone/pour a stiff drink and Holly would start crawling along a 60-foot-high crane would largely be unfounded. Although, I did do a quick reccy of the area for cranes, just in case. You can't trust kids.

Off then to Alan and Jo's for an evening of 5Net and baby. Holly behaved herself through Judging Amy, largely I think because she was being fed by her mum at that point. During Extreme Home Makeover: Blind Man Edition, she seemed fine kicking around on her mat, not as upset as I was by Ty Pennington's over-emotional demeanour and general shoutiness. (It was very moving though.)



However, when Medium started, Holly got upset. Now, I've always believed that Patricia Arquette's scary hair and Lithium-inspired acting were enough to make small children cry, but I never thought I'd see it in practice! But Holly was grisling and writhing as if in agony and generally carrying on. Panic!



I turned the TV off, tried shaking various rattles and toys in Holly's face, but eventually gave in and picked her up. As nothing snapped, I tried holding her up against my shoulder, patting her on the back (wind, perhaps?), and she stopped crying. Success! I put her back down on the mat. The crying started again. I picked her up again, carried her around, and then she burped loudly (and wetly) against my shoulder. After a few minutes of rocking, she dozed off. Back down onto the mat she went, I ran downstairs to get some Coke and a Jamie Oliver cookbook to read, and sprinted back upstairs to make sure she hadn't died in her sleep. I'd read a recipe, check for breathing, read another recipe ... it was exhausting!



PJ arrived, en route from Copenhagen. When Holly woke up and started crying again, he told me to ignore her -- that this was just attention-seeking behaviour and that I shouldn't reward it. He's HARSH! (And also just a little bit concerned that 2 hours with a baby would uncover my deeply buried maternal instincts.*) My ability to tolerate crying ranks well below my fear of spoiling a child, so I repeated the holding/burping/rocking sequence with some success. She was still mildly whingy when Alan and Jo returned, but not so much that they needed to call Child Services. To my delight and considerable relief, Holly continued to cry on and off once her parents were holding her -- it wasn't me! We finished off the evening with slices of Holly's christening cake, Jo presented me with a gorgeous chocolate and pear cake as payment for services rendered, and PJ and I walked home through the chilly Amsterdam night.

Needless to say, I slept like a (good) baby last night.

*No worries on that score. My ovaries shrivelled further with every cry. I have total admiration for parents, but I couldn't do this 24x7.