Monday, 19 October 2015
Baby Sitter (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)
Little G is now a fully paid up member of the Anglican community, having acquitted herself brilliantly at her christening. All the pre-prep and risk analysis certainly paid off. The four small babies in long white robes and a variety of headgear howled dismally. The same-age toddler kicked off, refused to go to the lady vicar and was forcibly christened (not sure if this counts).
Little G, in contrast, submitted to the various procedures like a veteran, merely patting her hair and remarking loudly: ''Man, water head,'' after regaining her seat. Couldn't fault her performance, and I am quietly taking full credit. The fact that she now thinks the same thing is going to happen every Sunday is neither here nor there.
And so to my first adventure in baby-sitting. Last Saturday You must be mad was invited to one of those 'no children' weddings, so I did my first ever evening stint. To make sure Little G didn't notice that her bedtime routine had suddenly devolved to the shaky hands of an unreliable amateur, I was given two pages of closely written instructions to ensure nothing could go wrong. And it almost didn't.
Bathtime proceeded as per most of Page 1. Donning of night attire as per end of Page 1. Stories and songs as per top of Page 2. It was only when Little G performed her nightly manoeuvre of turning off the light and closing her bedroom door (middle of Page 2) that I suddenly realised that: a) I couldn't find the cot in the dark and b) I couldn't read the final instructions.
Luckily an improvisatory deviation from the worksheet involving an unauthorized interaction with the landing light meant Little G finally landed up in her cot, facing the right way, all tasks completed in order and successfully. And nobody was any the wiser.
To be continued ... .....