Page 5 of This Baby Business
Jill’s face appeared on the monitor again. “And how are you doing? What did your mom’s accountant suggest?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. Patsy had suggested it was all a matter of perception and occurred at every major firm when there was a change at the helm. RockYourBaby.com was simply no longer relevant.
Ouch.
Still, the suggestion was that though we’d lost some footing in the market, recovery was feasible. My mother had created a solid brand. In other words, all was not lost. Yet.
Grace let out a piercing wail, and I stood and walked out of the camera’s view to unbuckle the baby from her seat. I picked her up carefully, like she was fine china, and carried her to the table slowly so neither one of us would fall.
“What was that?” Jill was saying. “Did you get a cat?”
“Sorry.” I propped Grace on my lap and resumed the Skype chat.
Jill stared, jaw dropped. “Um? Care to explain? What are you doing with ababy?”
“Oh, this is my neighbor’s baby. Grace. His sitter cancelled last minute so he came over and begged me to watch her for a day. Can you believe it? He doesn’t evenknowme. Rookie dad.”
“What are you thinking, offering to babysit? Like you don’t have enough to do.”
“First, I didn’t offer. He asked. And I’ll be able to finish my blog post with some real honest research and not just the Watch-Me-Tinkle baby doll.”
“This is not your brightest idea. You might have stuck with the dolls.”
“That’s not real research. I need to own this baby-expert thing.”
“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that baby is about to blow. She’s puckering up for a good, loud scream.”
I turned Grace so Jill could see her face. Sure enough, she had a stiff bottom lip and her tiny, angelic sleeping face had turned a frightening shade of mauve. She took one look at me and out came an earsplitting wail.
“Oh, no!” I stood up with her. “How did you know?”
“I worked as an au pair the year I lived abroad,” Jill shouted. “I don’t remember much, but I know that look.”
“What do I do now? Help me!”
“In order to really help, I’d have to rewind to the minute you agreed to help Hot Dad out!”
“How do you know he’s hot?” I swayed and rocked with Grace on my hip. I didn’t know if that would help, but it felt like the right thing to do.
“Just a guess.”
Grace continued to screech, a wild and guttural sound that scared me. Grace’s mouth was wide-open, so I could see down to her tonsils, and I was sure they were vibrating. Was that even normal? What if she was hurt? I’d never forgive herself!
“Okay. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
“No! Wait.” I danced back to my monitor. “Are vibrating tonsils a thing?”
“I can’t hear you.” And then Jill, my one connection to the outside world, was gone.
Gah!
“Please stop crying, little baby. Oh, please.” I danced around the kitchen but that did absolutely nothing except perhaps burn a few extra calories. “Maybe you’re hungry. Yes! Why didn’t I think of that?”
How could such a little thing let out a scream worthy of the lead singer in a hard-core metal band? How could her lungs be big enough?
I reached for a baby bottle from the fridge. Let’s see. I remembered reading about this in my mother’s baby bible before I’d done a blog post onBottle or Breast? Which Way Is Best?Of course, in a million years I hadn’t implied that a mother should do it one way or another. No idiot, just like Mom, I vowed to stay clear of breast politics. I simply listed options. The bottle way was to warm one in a pan of hot water. No microwaves!
Time slowed to a snail’s pace as I filled a pan of water and waited for it to simmer, then stuck the bottle in, while simultaneously holding a baby who was screaming so loudly I wondered if I’d ever regain hearing in the left ear. I did all of this while dancing and swaying and begging. But Grace seemed immune to all the begging.
