As I've mentioned before, C-2b and her boys, GC-2 and GC-4 live with me. C-2b works nights, which means I end up with babysitting duties 3-4 nights a week. I have a tendency on those nights when I'm going to be watching the boys to find reason to stay out as a long as possible before heading home, because I know as soon as I walk through that front door, GC-2 is going to immediately become my shadow, and my time to babysit is going to thus immediately kick in. Hey, I love my boys dearly, but I like to have at least a little time to unwind after work and before they're all over me, and that just ain't going to happen once I get home. So if I'm babysitting that night, I find somewhere else to be until the absolute last minute before going home. C-2b is not crazy about this (oh well...), and she has her ways of getting back at me (I'm convinced she does, anyway)...
When I received that text at work last Friday asking me to watch the kids, I rolled my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Great, like I really want to spend my Friday night stuck in the house babysitting. How she know I ain't have nothin' else to do?
Well: I didn't actually have anything else to do, and that being the case, I almost certainly wasn't going out to try to find something to do. Let's face it, on the nights when I don't have plans (most nights), I'm not inclined to go and make plans out of no plan; I was just going to park my butt in front of the television and watch movies. Would it be nice to do so without interruption from a crying kid or two? Sure, but once GC-2 (finally) expends all of his seemingly unlimited energy supply, he's not budging until morning, and even GC-4 was getting to the point where he is sleeping pretty much all night. Still, can't I just have my Fridays free, in case I get lucky and something (someone) comes along to spice up the night? I mean, that could happen...right?
Hmmm...
Hmmm...
"Yeah, I can watch them."
***
As usual, I found ways to lolly gag and avoid going home for as long as I could without making C-2b late. As usual, she wasn't too thrilled about this, stomping off to work with an attitude. Too bad, you're getting free babysitting service, on top of paying no rent or utilities. Deal with it. Right away, it seemed as if GC-4, normally very pleasant, was a bit on the cranky side. Hungry? Nope, he spit out his bottle in my attempt to feed him. But then, wait...that smell...OK, I think I know what your problem is, Mister...
We retreated to GC-4's crib, where upon getting his diaper off, I discovered the whole front and back and everything in between) of his bottom to be covered in a Dijon mustard-looking, vomit-smelling mess. Oooh, that damned daughter of mine, I grumbled, convinced that the frequency with which one or the other (usually both) of these boys has soiled diapers that need changing right when I enter the picture is no coincidence. So I got GC-4 all cleaned (which took much more time and effort than should be expected to clean up a 12 pound human), and voila! he was back to being his normal pleasant self. Problem solved. But then I turned around...
There, standing in the middle of the room was GC-2, butterball naked, holding a clean diaper in one hand and box of baby wipes in the other. Seriously, dude, if you can go through the trouble of undressing and un-diapering yourself, and going to retrieve what you need to get freshened up again, WHY CAN'T YOU SIT YOUR LIL BEHIND ON THE POT AND DO YOUR BUSINESS THERE???
"Where's your diaper?" Blank stare. "WHERE'S YOUR DIAPER? Boy, I'm not playing with you!"
GC-2 took off running. I took off after him, but within a few steps --
Alrighty then: there was the diaper, now under my foot. I was so busy demanding the whereabouts of the darned thing, I didn't even see it laying right where he stepped out of it. Lovely...
But then, a frightening thought occurred: where the hell was GC-2 running off to? Please, not to MY bedroom! I kicked off my shoe, ran down the hall and, sure enough, there he was standing at the foot of my bed, and its freshly washed sheets. I sprung into action, snatching him up before he planted his unwiped butt on my sheets, and hauled him off to his own room, wiped him down, then put him on his own bed to get the fresh diaper on, washed my hands, and went to retrieve the 10 week old attention hound crying in his crib...
Well, I guess I maybe I COULD get home a little earlier when she has to work...
We retreated to GC-4's crib, where upon getting his diaper off, I discovered the whole front and back and everything in between) of his bottom to be covered in a Dijon mustard-looking, vomit-smelling mess. Oooh, that damned daughter of mine, I grumbled, convinced that the frequency with which one or the other (usually both) of these boys has soiled diapers that need changing right when I enter the picture is no coincidence. So I got GC-4 all cleaned (which took much more time and effort than should be expected to clean up a 12 pound human), and voila! he was back to being his normal pleasant self. Problem solved. But then I turned around...
There, standing in the middle of the room was GC-2, butterball naked, holding a clean diaper in one hand and box of baby wipes in the other. Seriously, dude, if you can go through the trouble of undressing and un-diapering yourself, and going to retrieve what you need to get freshened up again, WHY CAN'T YOU SIT YOUR LIL BEHIND ON THE POT AND DO YOUR BUSINESS THERE???
"Where's your diaper?" Blank stare. "WHERE'S YOUR DIAPER? Boy, I'm not playing with you!"
GC-2 took off running. I took off after him, but within a few steps --
SPLAT!
Alrighty then: there was the diaper, now under my foot. I was so busy demanding the whereabouts of the darned thing, I didn't even see it laying right where he stepped out of it. Lovely...
But then, a frightening thought occurred: where the hell was GC-2 running off to? Please, not to MY bedroom! I kicked off my shoe, ran down the hall and, sure enough, there he was standing at the foot of my bed, and its freshly washed sheets. I sprung into action, snatching him up before he planted his unwiped butt on my sheets, and hauled him off to his own room, wiped him down, then put him on his own bed to get the fresh diaper on, washed my hands, and went to retrieve the 10 week old attention hound crying in his crib...
Well, I guess I maybe I COULD get home a little earlier when she has to work...
