I am terrified of any child under the age of three. I am not sure why. Anything human that just eats, sleeps and shits whenever it wants, demanding that you are there to make sure it all happens safely just un-nerves me. Having survived an encounter with not one but two such miniature humans recently I can admit proudly, though still petrified, I feel more confident, more accomplished and more confused than ever. How can this possibly be a celebration of women on the Gold Coast? You may just have to read on.
This tale begins with a text message. A request to entertain some youngsters for a few hours. I accept without much thought to the job requirements. I am being offered a unique opportunity to help some Blank Ladies. Without a sitter on hand and with vital tasks to complete for deadline, there are some toddlers who need distracting.
I know having an infant around is a demand which often leaves no time even to brush one’s teeth in peace. I know because I have been told. I have heard the tales many times over. Sleep deprivation, never getting anything done and not being able to look after oneself. But not this time, it’s Blankman to the rescue.
The twisted brand of self-satisfaction which comes in doing a deed for others is short-lived. Anxiety spikes as I arrive at my day’s destination. Two toddlers, just passing two year’s life experience between them are waiting. I figure, like sharks, they will sense fear so I must suck it up and stake my claim as the ruler for the next two hours.
The Blank Ladies begin work immediately. I’ve no instruction, no experience and no idea. Great. I scan my internal database for clues. How the f*ck do you entertain a baby? I can’t pull faces and make fart sounds for two hours.
As I drive myself insane, the young’uns just go about their business in the backyard. Kick a ball, kinduv, go after it, pick it up and smile. Leave the ball, check out the shrub, look at me inquisitively and then back to the ball. A bit of time is spent at the chalkboard, eating food off the ground and mostly… time is spent indulging in absolutely nothing whatsoever. And they f*cking love it.
Over an hour has passed, nobody has gotten injured or felt the need to complain, myself included. I have switched from anxious sweaty man to documentarian. These are the most fascinating creatures ever. They are definitely communicating, definitely aware that I can’t and are most forgiving for my disconnection to their wonderful wee world.
The time we spend together ends with an earth shattering turd. Well, at least nappy shattering. The mess has impacted the lounge rug through to the spare room. It is a most appropriate end to a most splendid morning. I am showered with praise and shouted lunch. But I’m not sure if I actually ‘did’ anything. I’ll leave that for mums of the world to decide.
Chloe and Sam, it was an honour to provide a window of opportunity for you to rush through some Blank tasks. I urge all readers to put their hand up and offer any mum within reach, just a few hours to sit. If Blankman can, you can too. You go gurlz!