MaKenna Nelson
Have you ever been covered in rancid vomit from head to toe while trying to rock a baby to sleep at 2:00 am? No? Well, I have, and it’s not fun. However, I find myself going back the next week to babysit for a single mom who is working the night shift, to hopefully pay this month's rent on time. I could be sitting in my warm, cloud-like bed at home, but I choose to spend my days and nights caring for those who can’t do it themselves. Plus, the kids are the ones who make my life interesting. As a babysitter, I have noticed a pattern with kids. All the kids I have babysat fit into 4 categories: Clingers, Tornadoes, CEO Babies, and the Oscar Nominees.
The Clingers are like my personal shadow. Every single step I take, they take with me, two tiny steps behind. If I go into the laundry room, they go into the laundry room. If I go outside, they go outside. The moment their parents walk out of the front door, they latch onto me like I’m some sort of mama koala. But, it’s not necessarily a bad or good thing. Sometimes I feel like a celebrity with paparazzi following me, and it’s nice to have cuddles from a sweet, innocent two-year-old little girl.
Jack, a 3-year-old little boy, gripped my leg with the strength of a professional rock climber as his mom walked out the front door.
“You’re my best friend now,” He proclaimed to me.
The feeling of being smothered overwhelmed me, but as the hours slowly passed by, it began to feel not too bad. Around 10:00 pm, I heard his mother's keys jangle against the blue wooden front door as she unlocked the deadbolt. Before I left, I learned his dad had just been deployed across seas, and he had separation anxiety and didn’t like to be alone. The next time I came over, I made sure to hold his hand at the park and tuck him in extra tight at bedtime with his camo-dressed fuzzy teddy bear.
The next type of kids I babysit are the Tornadoes. If you could put 10 red bulls and 17 scoops of pre-workout into a child, that’s how they act. From the moment they wake up and jump out of bed, it’s literally like a tornado. Their nicely folded clothes from the dresser are thrown out onto the Cars-themed rug, and their pants are draped over the bed frame. Their Barbies, Legos, and Hot Wheels that were neatly organized in plastic bins are now dumped out all over the playroom floor, and the red chalk for the chalkboard is smeared into Sissy’s fur, the recently groomed, very fluffy poodle. Have fun trying to explain that to the parents.
My best advice when babysitting children like this is to play outside. Parks are a great option, but try to stay away from sand. Tornadoes and sand do not mix well. I learned that the hard way. One time, this kid I was watching, who unknowingly needed ADHD medication very badly, had so much energy that while I was using the restroom, he destroyed his entire pantry. He claimed he was looking for the goldfish, but found it necessary to shatter a glass canister his mom stored flour in all over the hardwood floor, and empty every single pasta box, a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil, fruit loops, and to top it all off, a bottle of honey mixed with onion powder! Tornadoes move very fast, and so should you!
“Give me my juice!” is something I would have never expected to hear shouted at me from a toddler, yet that and many other similar phrases are something I hear repeatedly. CEO Babies are the next category of kids I babysit, and they are some of the most relentless people I have ever met. They never back down or listen the first time, and they NEED to always feel like the boss. The moment they feel out of control, a tantrum is waiting to happen. The way these kids speak makes it sound like they are used to being the boss, and maybe they are. But when I’m babysitting, I make the rules. Yet, regardless of my reasoning or logic, the kids always say, “Well, my mom said I can.” Really? I’m not sure your mom lets you eat ice cream and pepperoni pizza for breakfast at 7:30 am.
Sometimes, the CEO babies are willing to negotiate with you, and you can find a common ground, but other times, they refuse to do anything but get their way. I was babysitting a brother and sister about a year ago; they were twins, Abby and Alex. They were the epitome of boss babies. Abby would eat, sleep, and breathe anything princess-related. She wore a Cinderella princess dress, a flimsy, blue tiara with fake diamonds, and cheap, plastic children's heels from Walmart every single day of her life. Alex was her knight who wore inexpensive, fake armor and carried around a flexible, “metal” sword. The first time I babysat for them, their parents were at a funeral, and I was supposed to watch them and get them appropriately dressed for the family gathering afterward. I spent two agonizing hours bickering and pleading with the children to put on the black dress and solemn slacks and button-up shirt their mom had laid out, but that got me nowhere besides tantrums and slammed doors. When their mom and dad arrived, the chaos only escalated before I could quickly scramble my things together and leave.
The last category of kids I babysat are the Oscar Nominees. Honestly, they deserve an award for their dedicated waterworks and over-the-top emotions. These kids truly can fool anyone into believing their scratched elbow is a compound fracture and they need to go to the hospital immediately. Did you know the 3-year-old I babysat is actually undercover Leonardo DiCaprio? Because the way he cried when I said no to another ice cream cone is a dead giveaway. With this type of kid, every “no” is a betrayal, like a stab to the heart. It’s hard to learn the fine line between empathy and falling for these kids' performances. One minute, they could be screaming at the top of their lungs because they’re in so much pain, and then the next be smiling and jumping between the cushions on the couch.
“How could you do this to meeeeeee?” Max sobbed. “My life is ruined!”
In case you were wondering, his life is ruined because it is time to clean up his trains. Tears streamed down his face as he threw his limp body onto the trains. These weren’t just any tears, though; they were a performance. This was routine for him, he’d cry and lay on his trains for a while, as if Thomas the Train himself had just died. Then I’d suggest playing outside, and he’d perk up and finish cleaning. Five minutes later, the tears were gone, and his face was beaming with joy as he slid down the slide.
Babysitting isn’t always a very alluring job; sometimes I have to settle sibling disputes, clean up mystery substances in the corner, or gather all the patience within my body and say, “It’s okay.” But, at the end of the day, after all the chaos and germs, babysitters are always there to hug your kid when they need one and tuck them in at night. Whether they’re Clingers, Tornadoes, CEO babies, or Oscar Nominees, each child teaches me something I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. Thankfully, I do know now from the children I have babysat that I do not enjoy babysitting. Which is exactly why I quit!
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