Just me and the Mouse

And throw it in the air for Baby and me

Last night everyone (not globally, but nearly boasts box office sales) but me went to see Harry Potter.  I’m not into fantasy or magic.  Of course, except for that fantasy that I can’t mention here.  You know, the one that would take more than magic to acquire.  That plight left me as the designated babysitter. 

There are several good things about tending a nine-month-old. 

• They don’t get their feelings hurt if you ignore them for a bit and do something self indulgent, like nothing
• If you can pat-a-cake and say “boo,” you are prime entertainment material
• They don’t expect elaborate gifts.  A dead remote for punching buttons suits them just fine
• You know right where you stand with them.  It’s either smiles or tears, and it’s pretty easy to correct the latter
• You don’t have to dress up
• You don’t have to listen to long sentences or excuses
• The more you act like a fool, the better off you are
• They like your singing

But my favorite is when they look lovingly into your eyes, and fall asleep on your chest.  I lay on the couch with the Mouse snuggled up against my body.  Too bad the movie didn’t last longer.  If I spoil him, too bad.  That’s the price for babysitting.

Related posts:

1. Letting go, almost
2. What’s in a name?
3. The gaps in my life
4. The magic of youth
5. Halloween on a budget