"Jo-Jo"

My granddaughter phoned me on Saturday to ask if I would care for her six month old baby while she and her husband went to Las Vegas for the night. Little Jason (Jo-Jo) is such an adorable little guy, and I relished in the thought of spending time with him. While it had been several years since I had cared for one so tiny, I was confident that all would go well and that everything would fall into place in a natural manner. After all, babies are easy to care for, right?

Jo-Jo was dropped off around ten o'clock that evening, and since he had slept in the car on the way here, he had no intentions of going back to sleep anytime soon. We played for awhile, I fed and changed him, and finally got him to sleep around midnight. I then slid into bed and suddenly realized that a child of this age probably would not sleep through the night. My thoughts were not all inclusive of the events that followed.

I was awakened a little after one by a slight whimper. I quickly rushed to his side, and noticing that he was still asleep, I went back to bed. Ten minutes later I heard him again. This time I gave him a bottle, certain that it would get me (at least) another three hours of sleep; an error in judgment on my part. The whimpers went on throughout the night at one hour intervals. By six thirty I realized that it was easier to merely stay up than bounce back and forth. He, of course, remained sleeping for another two hours in total silence.

His mother had forgotten his baby food, so it was up to me to be imaginative. I poached him an egg, mashed it well, and fed him breakfast. I should say that I attempted to feed him breakfast. I discovered that he wasn't too hip on eggs and the dog ended up with the majority of it. I then tried oatmeal, which proceeded to end up with more on him than in his stomach.

Cleaned and fed I put him in his jumper expecting him to entertain himself; another false notion on my part. I turned the tv on and that allowed for another twenty minutes of joyful pleasure. I then switched him to another jumper and he became bored with that one quickly. I kept him fed, dry and tried everything to keep him entertained, but the only thing that managed to keep him quiet was holding him or entertaining him on a personal level. I stared at my unmade bed and the dishes in the sink, realizing that they were not going to be tended to anytime soon.

Experience had taught me that babies take a morning nap and an afternoon nap. Jo-Jo was unaware of this schedule. It was nearly two thirty before I was able to get him to sleep and finally attack my unmade bed and the rest of the house. While he slept peacefully, I dragged myself to get things done, hoping that he would awaken refreshed and, I guess, a bit more independent. I was thrilled when he opened his eyes and smiled at me and I felt certain that the rest of the afternoon was sure to be different.

I got the blender out and pureed some chicken noodle soup. I was glad that he found it pleasing to the taste, and apparently still famished from an incomplete breakfast, he gobbled it down. Then it all came up. Another clean up job, and I sat him down to play. Having spent the entire morning (and much of the afternoon) being switched from one form of play thing to another, he was now bored with all of them. He now required my full, undivided attention.

My granddaughter called from Vegas and asked how things were going. After I described the events of the day, she said, “That's why no one will watch him.” Now's a fine time to let me know, I thought. In the meantime, I am talking to my two daughters throughout the day, who are finding the whole ordeal quite entertaining and comical. My youngest keeps repeating that “he's only one baby, Mom,” and I am threatening to drive him to her house so that she might come to experience this simple task of caring for one lone child. (She lives in Utah).

I sat him in the kitchen and he was quiet long enough for me to get a pot roast started. His parents were expected back late afternoon, and I would be remiss if I didn't have something prepared for them. I barely got it in the pan when he required my attention once again. Giving in to his whims, we settled down together in my recliner to watch tv. Again, the television was not an acceptable form of entertainment for him, so I found myself conversing with a six month old child as the only way to quiet him.

Mom and Dad finally arrived after nine o'clock. The pot roast had been long done, and I had to turn everything off or risk overcooking it. Jo-Jo was finally asleep and I (who almost never drinks) was enjoying a vodka gimlet at the kitchen counter. I could see the look of sympathy on my granddaughter's face the moment she walked in as she said, “My God, my baby has turned my nana to drink.” I didn't have it in me to disagree.