Last night a former third grade student of mine and former fifth grade student of your mom named Ali came over to babysit while I made an appearance at a bookstore on the shore to promote SOMETHING MISSING. Years ago, when Mommy was still single and Ali was in fifth grade, they would talk about the day when Ali would be old enough to babysit mommy’s future children.
Oddly enough, that day finally arrived.
And like all babysitters before Ali, your behavior was perfect. No tears until it was time to go to bed, and even then, Ali reported that you fussed for about five minutes before drifting off to sleep.
The hardest part about babysitters is the extended time that we are away from you, little one. When we arrived home around 10 PM, you were already more than two hours into your slumber, so we certainly weren’t going to awaken you. But at the same time we hadn’t seen you for more than five hours and wanted nothing more than to scoop you up and plaster you in kisses.
“I miss Clara,” was our customary refrain for the evening.
Still, better for us to lament your absence than for you to wail all night, wanting us.
Better for the babysitter, at least.
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