Increasingly around the house, conversations have revolved around time: “Do you have time?” “I have no time.” “I don’t know where time went.” “Can’t you make some time?” “Please, I need more time.” “I need to find some time.” “There’s not enough time.” “Stop wasting your time.” “Stop wasting MY time.” “Can you pleeaaase make some time and take the baby?!”
And there we have it; I didn’t know, but it would seem that I am to time, what Donatella Versace is to self-tanning lotions – my appetite for it is voracious. Unfortunately for Mommy, that means that her time these days is like a toddler in a tiara; short and precious.
BUT, Mommy is not one to sit back and helplessly watch as her precious time is stolen from her. And so, instead of counting her hard earned me-time minutes like a stripper her one-dollar bills, she has presented Daddy with a “Plan of Action” through which she plans on turning those minutes into hours. And whilst I won’t bore you with the details of this multi-step action plan of hers, there was one particularly ominous action point called “Outsourcing” which caught my eye. Sub-bullet: “Baby care to be split by multiple parties; e.g. babysitter, crèche, nanny / au-pair”. Outsourcing...? Baby care? Babysitter?!
Still in shock after this discovery, I somehow found my way around Wikipedia where my worst fears were confirmed: Mommy is giving me away. Or worse than that, she’s actually paying someone to take me away. Double WTF?! Not only is she willing to let some random stranger take care of me, but she’s so far out of her mind that she’s actually considering taking in some Peruvian girl to live with us just so that she can go and have her nails done. This is bad folks, real bad. To anyone reading this: Please alert social services. ASAP. We have a Mommy here who is giving her baby away for money. Well, at least for a few hours every day. But still, this is pretty hard stuff.
And as for credentials of these people who make a living out of sitting on babies, I overheard Mommy saying to Daddy the other day that “the girl in the coffee shop might be interested”. Well OF COURSE she’d be interested. I’m bl**dy a-dorable and a real treat to be with. But has anyone stopped to ask ME what I think of HER? I mean, she’s sweet and all and there’s no complaining about her abilities in serving coffee, but how exactly does that make her suitable as a babysitter? Does she have kids of her own? I think not. Am I a double-non-fat-decaf-moccachino? Think again. And even if I were a coffee, I’d like to think of myself as a full-fat-no-foam-latte macchiato. But that’s beside the point.
What’s not beside the point however is that I have absolutely no intention in being left to fend for myself in the hands of anyone other than Mommy and Daddy. She may be a qualified nurse, but I’m not buying it. You guys want to go on a date? Not a problem. Ya’ll are just going to have to wait oh, 15 years or so, until I am old enough to keep you awake at night for completely other reasons. Rule number one of time management with a baby: Forget about me-time. You might as well be asking Posh to smile for the camera...