The Unbalanced and Broody Babysitter

For some time now I have been quite broody and it seems babies are more frequently popping out of people I know, which is taking the broodiness to new heights.

In August last year the opportunity arose to look after one such child, the fruit of Victoria Thompson’s boss’s loins.

I was delighted, and a bit shocked, when I heard the news that he was including me in the babysitting duties because although he knows me quite well 'digitally' (his choice of word not mine) he’d only met me twice in real life – once when I brought him an ice-lolly because he was working late at the weekend (good impression) and the other time when I was having a mental breakdown on the grass outside his work (not so good) – but as the date came closer the fear set in…

I have a theory that babies, like cats and dogs, can sense evil. I am not saying that I am evil but just that I might be and don’t know it yet. This particular concern has been highlighted by the film Antichrist (I have a habit of taking films personally). Any logical person would have the same thoughts, no? Just me? Well anyway I was worried about meeting Luca because he had the potential to alert everyone in the vicinity that I am the devil.

When I explained this to Vic on the way there, doing my best to hold back the tears, she told me not to worry. She told me that I’m one of the nicest people she knows and I felt guilty so I told her I’d done some pretty mean things when I was little. (I didn't give her any examples but I'll give you one now... When I was seven I went to an all girls' boarding school and they started to introduce boys. The first one to move into our building came to the room I shared with my best friend to give her The Little Mermaid on video as a gift. I think I was threatened by him making the moves on her so I grabbed it and threw it on the floor exclaiming, "She already has this one!" I still feel bad about this especially as I don't think she did have the film.) Vic looked at me funnily and said that anything under the age of ten doesn’t count and that it was probably not a good idea to tell her boss and his girlfriend of my concerns given this was the first time they’d be leaving their three month old first born.

Despite her reassurance I kept my distance from the wee one until the parents had departed for their date, when I felt it was safer to test the water. Also I get embarrassed chatting to babies or young kids when grown-ups are around because I tend to talk to them like they’re adults, and occasionally in this weird voice that my high school boyfriend used to do when talking to his dog, and sometimes me.



Before they left they informed us that Luca only poos once a week. You can imagine I was quite upset by this - I wish they'd told me to sit down before delivering such bad news. However after his bottle he did do some tremendous farting that led us to believe a poo had been deposited. A special treat given the disappointment on hearing of his infrequent bowel movements. Nappy open, we saw it had been a trick played by a particularly stinky fart. It took about half an hour to work out how to get the sticky bits on the nappy to work and also to get the nappy to sit like he wasn’t a gangster with his crotch by his knees. I say we - most of the nappy work was being done by Vic - I was just hanging over the side of the bed dangling my magical necklace in his face to distract him from the indignity of it all.



Perhaps the chiming necklace I was wearing had distracted Luca from outing me because if he sensed any evil he didn't say anything about it. He did, however, mistake my body for a bed and my finger for a nipple. But as I've been mistaken for a prostitute on more than one occasion I'll take being mistaken for a bed and a nipple as a compliment.



After his nap and some food (milk for Luca, meatballs for us), and once we'd worked out which way round to put him in the pram, we took him for a walk in the park and felt how a proud lesbian couple must feel with Luca chatting away to himself in the way only babies that can't talk do. He soon fell asleep and I envied him. If I had someone to push me around in a pram maybe I'd get some decent sleep.

When the frantic parents returned we left them to do some serious catching up. As we walked to the station I text a guy I been on a few dates with telling him I'd been babysitting and "Please can you lend me some sperm so I can have one?" I am aware this is not the sort of thing you say to a guy if you want him to stick around but wait...

He replied straight back saying, "What you doing tonight?"

I have never know someone so keen to lend their seeds for an artificial insemination extravaganza. Maybe he just thought it was the modern way of asking for sex. If that was the case he didn't get what he wanted and neither did I.

I am still accepting donations so do get in touch.

You Give Them Somewhere to Live and This is How They Repay You...

Shortly after my masculinity was thrown into question by a mere ladybird my room was invaded by even more of them. Because I now knew their identity I let them go about their business because everyone knows ladybirds are a friendly bunch. The very same day I was on the way to my local Tescos in Highgate when I came across a massive swarm of them on a street corner. I have never in my life seen such a sight. And it was highly inconvenient - I had to walk on the road to avoid them. I was later informed that there'd been an invasion of Asian ladybirds in Britain. I took this information and did nothing with it. A couple of days later I woke up to find at least 13 ladybirds having a snooze at the top of my curtains. I shrugged and left them to it.

This was in September.

Come November they were still wandering about and it was getting to the point where I was growing quite fond of them and able to tell some of them apart. I distinctly remember wondering if perhaps there was something wrong with the way my brain was wired.

Towards the end of November I went to The Wrestlers pub with my friend Al who lives down the road. One of the ladybirds decided he wanted to come along and I noticed him wandering about on my scarf and stupidly drew Al's attention to it. I felt a bit embarrassed - I was like the pigeon lady in Mary Poppins but with ladybirds instead of filthy ones.

Back in my bedroom I accidentally broke one's wings by not seeing it and squashing it with my Johnny Vegas monkey (an excellent boyfriend substitute as his arms are really heavy so you get great hugs without the hassle that would come if he were real). I was in tears because I knew I'd have to put it out of its misery. I was sat there eyes brimming saying out loud, "I'm really sorry, please forgive me" as, after waiting for ten minutes hoping it would recover, I squished it in a tissue. I felt shaken for some time afterwards.

In December things turned nasty. I started waking up covered in bites and in the most inconvenient places (wrists, ankles etc.). At first I thought it was because I'd had the window open and that mosquitoes had got in. But then I decided it was a bit cold for that. My next thought was that it was bedbugs which quite frankly is my worst nightmare. There's something really grim about the thought of something coming out of your bed and having a feast on your feet whilst you're getting a bit of shut eye. I couldn't work out why they would suddenly start biting though and my sheets were clean so there was something not quite adding up. And as a ladybird wandered past I came to the conclusion that I'd rather it was them biting me than bedbugs.

Perhaps they were getting me back for the tissue-squishing incident.

I was told that ladybirds don't bite people but when, two nights after receiving a particular bite, it swelled up ridiculously and I came down with a migraine, dizziness and nausea I thought I should look up ladybird bites on the internet. It turns out that the ladybirds in my room were indeed the Asian ladybirds who've invaded Britain. They're called Harlequin ladybirds and are known for getting all up in our ladybirds' faces and invading our houses. Word on internet street is that when food runs out they will start to bite humans. This made me happy and sad at the same time: happy that it wasn't bedbugs but sad that the LBs had turned on me. On a whim I put an over-ripe banana out for them and wasn't bitten again. I wonder whether I should be offended that they'd rather eat a bruised piece of fruit than me.

On Saturday just gone I was taking down my curtains getting ready for my move home and found out that not only do they use the top of the curtains as their bedroom but as their toilet as well. It was COVERED in tiny little poos. They were like minuscule versions of human poos. I felt like I'd found really disgusting treasure. I was quite surprised that over the whole period of their stay with me I never saw any of that yellow stuff they do. Do you remember being little and picking them up and thinking that they'd weed on you? Well I don't know if you know this but apparently that's actually blood - it's their way of playing dead so they don't get eaten.

I don't know about you but I feel like I've learnt a lot.