Babysitter's Club

11 September 2008, 20:20

As a Babysitter I would have made a great mum. I’ve never been particularly “maternal” but picked up the occasional babysitting job when I was an impoverished Uni student in Queensland.

It was easy money – $10 an hour (yes, this was a long time ago) and mostly it was kinder-aged dolls who played with my hair for an hour or so before passing out in a post-hair-playing-stupor. I did have a rather hardcore babysitting job all day Sunday looking after 5 kids from age 2 to 11. Yes, 5 kids. Age 2 to 11. But all I can say is kudos to the friggin’ Little Mermaid – she saved my arse when I was lying flat on my back after an overdose of trampolining with 2 very energetic pre-pubescent Montessori girls. God Bless You, Ariel, God Bless You.

Today, I just felt like recounting my most memorable babysitting experience. It was for the Vice Chancellor of U of Q and his socialite wife – nice enough people, but the wife had a DIET, yes, a DIET on their fridge for their 6 year old daughter (the one who loved to play with my hair). She was a lovely little girl with a bit of baby fat, but no more than any other 6 YEAR OLD, so this amazed me.

The VC had 2 kids, the other being a 4 year old boy (still in nappies, but I can’t talk yet – Scout has no inclination whatsoever of losing the nappies and she’s 2.5) let’s call him “Tacker”, who had….. issues. Now I don’t want to question the parenting skills of his mum and dad, because at the time, I was hardly a paragon of maternal instincts, but ah fuckit, what the hell – his parents had raised an extreme tantrum-throwing screamer who would go MENTAL if I asked him to do anything. Which, as it turns out, is quite normal for a toddler, only I didn’t know that at the time.

One day, though, when I arrived at their posh-o house, I must have scared little Tacker as he was watching his third hour of TV, and he spun around and started SCREAMING “She HIT ME! SHE HIT MEEEEEE!!!!!” Omigod. I threw my hands up like a slapstick movie criminal in an “I didn’t do it” pose and the mum, well, she knew he was foxing and said “don’t worry about it”, but still, omigod. What 4 year old has that in his box of tackle, I ask you? The She Bloody Well Hit Me vibe, don’t leave me mummy or THAT IMPOVERISHED ARTS STUDENT LADY WILL HIT ME AGAIN!

Funny thing is, at the time I thought he was a total little bratty shit, but looking back on it as a mum now my heart goes out to him. His parents were out on the voluptuous party circuit every second night (and that’s not an understatement) – of COURSE HE HAD THAT IN HIS BOX OF TACKLE. What normal, self-respecting child would not?

So, any babysitting horror stories out there? I’m in the mood for some vicarious living…

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