I still don't want to watch your kids

I walked through the front door to my house after school and heard my mother yell, “You're babysitting at the Shipman's house tonight.”

“Why?” I said. I took my shoes off and walked into the dining room where she was sitting at the table reading the newspaper and drinking her obligatory cup of tea.

Mom looked up from the paper and said, “because I told them you would.”

“When?”

“Around seven.”

“'Til when?”

“They said midnight.”

I sighed. They never returned before midnight. I was lucky if they came home before 2 a.m.

“You know I'm going to be there all night.”

“I know,” she said. “I'll do your deliveries for you.”

Babysitting wasn't my only job as a teenager. I also delivered around 200 newspapers each day. Christmas Day was the only day the newspaper didn't print. My mom and I would drive down to the Times-Herald Record around 1 a.m., and get my stacks as they came off the line.

It usually took us until close to 4:30 a.m., to deliver them all. Sundays took longer because we had to insert the inserts into the paper ourselves. Then, there was the collecting. I collected money from my customers on Friday after school until around 8 p.m., and all day Saturday. Many weeks, I also had to go back on Sunday to finish. With babysitting and marching band tossed in, there was little free time for me any day of the week.

Babysitting is a terrible job. Children pester you all night for the things they know they can't have until they wear you down and you agree that chocolate, jelly beans, and Kraft Mac 'n Cheese are good combination just to shut them up. They run around the house causing a ruckus and never go to bed on time. If you have to give them a bath before they go to bed, you're going to be wet as well. If you don't bring a change of clothes, you'll be soaking wet for hours until you can go home.

Ralph and Linda's three girls were still awake when I arrived. Jamie was less than a year old and Linda got her settled and sleeping before they left. Lynn and Heather begged for quite some time with me for “five more minutes,” before they had to go to bed. Eventually, I got them in bed about an hour late, shortly after 9 p.m.

Even in 1985, there was mostly garbage on television. I watched Johnny, which came on at 11:30 p.m., but fell asleep long before Letterman began. Around 1 a.m., I heard my name. It was a quiet little voice. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or not. I heard my name again. I realized it was Lynn calling me. She was standing on the third stair and leaning over the banister in such a way my brain had to reassure myself this wasn't some creepy horror movie. It was just Lynn.

I pushed myself up straight on the couch and said, “What's going on?”

“Jamie got sick,” Lynn said. “She puked everywhere.”

“Okay,” I said. I got up and met Lynn on the stairs. As each foot landed on a step, I realized more and more how much I hate babysitting – human or animal. This was my job, however, and I still needed to do it well, even if vomit was involved.

Jamie was a little kid. She could barely stand. There couldn't be too much to clean up. At least, that's what I told myself to try and remain calm. Whenever my nose gets a whiff of vomit, the rest of my body reacts and wants to hurl as well. It's a stench I want nothing to do with.

Jamie's room was at the top of the stairs. The closer I got, the more I could smell what I was about to encounter, the more I tried to tell myself not to puke.

I stood in the doorway, boldly thinking I'd be able to hold my breath while sorting out whatever had happened. Instead, I was greeted with a spectacular display of projectile vomiting. It was everywhere. It was on the walls. It was on the floor. It was on the changing table. It was in Jamie's crib. It was in Jaime's hair. It was all over Jamie, who was standing up in her crib, holding the railing and giggling.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she muttered something in non-English baby babble. I assume it went something like, “I'm happy to see you, Irene, but I puked everywhere. Sorry for making you ill right now.”

After a few shallow breaths, I breathed deeply and held my breath. The doorway to the crib was five steps away. I grabbed Jamie under her armpits and held her out at arm's length. She continued to exuberantly cackle as I quickly ran to the bathroom about 15 steps away. I sat her down in the tub and exhaled.

After exhaling, I quickly regulated my breath and got to work. I took her t-shirt off and tossed it to the far end of the bathtub. I turned the water on and waited for it to get tepid. Then, I grabbed the “hose” for the shower and flipped the switch so the water would flow from the shower head and hose, and not the bathtub nozzle.

I hosed Jamie down, from head to toe. She was still tittering, chortling, and clapping her hands with glee. Once the outside of her diaper was clean, I unfastened it, picked her up, and finished hosing her off. Lynn had put a towel on the floor and I put Jamie on it while I hosed off the bottoms of my shoes.

No thoughts were given to the dirty diaper or t-shirt in the tub. There was no way I was cleaning anything remaining in the tub.

Lynn watched Jamie while I gathered a fresh shirt and diaper. Lynn went back to bed, while I carried Jamie downstairs. I fastened the diaper and put the clean t-shirt on her. I combed her hair and then placed her on my left side. She laid her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. Not long after, I fell asleep, too.

Ralph and Linda came home just after 3 a.m. Linda looked at me and said, “Uh oh, what happened?”

“Jamie puked everywhere,” I said. “So I brought her down here to sleep.”

Linda knew I didn't do puke. She was a nurse, so escaping bodily fluids didn't bother her in the least.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll go take care of it.”

“There a lot,” I said. “And it's in the bathroom, too.”

Linda walked upstairs.

“Holy shit,” she said.

I smiled at Ralph. He laughed. “No way I'm going up there,” he said.

Ralph and I chatted about what the kids did, what he and Linda did, and apologized for returning late. I told him no big deal. What else was I going to say? They were always late. Everyone knew. Fortunately, last call was 4 a.m., so they would eventually come back home.

Linda came back downstairs 20 minutes later, took Jamie from me, and put her back in her now clean crib. When she came back downstairs, Linda thanked me for babysitting and gave me a hug. She told me she was going to clean the tub in the morning after she got some sleep. Not a problem for me. I was going home.

Ralph offered to drive me home. He always offered. I always declined. It was less than two blocks away. I lived at #12. The Shipmans lived at #33.

It was only a few minutes walk. I breathed in deeply. The crisp night air was refreshing and soothed my brutalized nostrils. I looked up at the moon and walked mostly in the street. And I wondered how it was possible for so much vomit to be expelled from such a tiny human. I've never had a satisfactory answer.