I can honestly say I don’t have “a way” with babies. Friends and relatives have seen how my wife Rose can sooth the most recalcitrant baby,just by jiggling it about for several minutes. For some reason, they thought I had the same magic touch. I looked forward to a relaxing afternoon with my niece Gavitt, far better than enduring the hassle of Christmas shopping.

“Gavitt will love playing with you,” said her mother Belle. “You’ll have no problem,” said Gavitt’s father Dick. “Piece of cake,” said Rose. “We won’t be long,” said Lucille, Rose’s sister. Gavitt, just eight months old, being held by Belle, looked at me through dark, brown eyes, apprehensively I thought. “We just have a bit more shopping to do before Christmas,” said Rose. “We won’t be long.”

Belle tousled Gavitt’s wispy brown hair and set her on the carpet next to the Christmas tree. Fascinated by the blinking lights and glittering bulbs Gavitt did not notice the four adults quietly slip out the door. She sat gazing up at the tree and I lay on the carpet nearby, ready to head off grabs at tree decorations.  Colorfully wrapped presents circled the tree. Gavitt pounded on some of them for awhile, accentuating each tiny fist impact with “Ah, ah.” No doubt, she was having fun.

I should have thought to put some music on or at least turn on the radio because without the other adults around things were too quiet, too easy to slip doubt and fear into the quiet spaces. Gavitt quit pounding, held her head as if listening, questing for some sound. “Ah, ah?”  She sat up and looked to either side. “Ah, ah?”

I tried to fill in the empty silence. “Hey, Merry Christmas!  Ho, ho, ho!”

“Ho, ho,” Gavitt mimicked. “Ho, ho.” Then, “Ah, ah?”

“Let’s look on this side,” I suggested, crawling by her to the side of the tree.  I pounded on another present. “Ah, ah,” I said. Gavitt joined in right away, whaling away at another package. “Ah, ah, ah!” We pounded Christmas gifts together for a few minutes, me imitating Gavitt, she imitating me. I kept up a steady patter of nonsense words, sometimes slipping in real sentences, such as, “Do you know how many reindeer Santa has?” knowing that Gavitt didn’t understand what I was saying but hoping to keep the silence of her mother’s abandonment from being noticed. 

Gavitt quit pounding and crawled around the circle of presents, then stopped, sat up, and looked around. “Ah, ah?” she said, looking a little worried I thought. “Ah, ah?”  She made another circle of the tree and stopped.

“Don’t worry,” I soothed, “Your mama will be back soon.” Big mistake, introducing the mama word. Gavitt knew the mama word. “Mama?” she said, her lower lip beginning to quiver. “Mama?”

“She’ll be right back,” I said. “Look at this.” I tapped a shiny red bulb ornament. “Ah, ah,” I said, and pointed to a shiny green ornament close to her. “Ahh,” said Gavitt, a triumphant tone in her voice as she reached towards the bulb. “Ah!” she said, happily, and whisked the bulb from its branch. Gavitt regarded the pretty thing for a few seconds, and threw it away with a backhand motion over her shoulder. “Ahh,” she said in a throaty satisfied voice.

“Ohh!” I said, “Oh no, don’t throw the bulbs.” But of course, Gavitt didn’t understand me. I scrambled for the bulb, which had landed on the carpet. I looked back at Gavitt and saw her grab another bulb. Another satisfied “Ahh!” and that bulb flew back over her shoulder. She was really enjoying this, and bounced up and down on her soft rump, gurgling with happiness. This was fun, fun for Gavitt.

As I retrieved the second bulb Gavitt scrambled around the far side of the Christmas tree, little hands and knees pounding the carpet. I scrambled after her. She was quick. I didn’t know babies could move that fast. I intercepted her tiny hand as it reached for another low-hanging bulb. “Oh, let’s leave that one alone,” I suggested, and that suggestion didn’t go over very well. “Ah!” she demanded. “Ahhh!” 

I found a small, brightly-wrapped present with her name on it. “Guess who this is for?” I asked, and tapped the wrapping. Like a falcon striking a songbird, Gavitt’s hand snatched the package from my hands. She used it to pound the other presents. “Ah, ah,” she said.  “That’s better,” I said, “isn’t it?”  Gavitt stopped pounding and looked at me and threw the present back over her shoulder. I’ve since learned that several babies love to play the throw and retrieve game.    

I weighed the pros and cons of retrieving the present and leaving Gavitt free to go at the other presents and ornaments. In the seconds I took to locate and retrieve the thrown present Gavitt had used a larger present to heave herself up on her chubby legs. She grasped a branch in each hand and gave them a hearty shake. “Ah, ah.  Ho, ho,” she said in that throaty way of noting supreme satisfaction. The bulbs jingled and the lights shook. This was fun.

Damn, but she had a strong grip on the branches. While I unwrapped one hand Gavitt vigorously shook the remaining branch in her grasp, now bouncing up and down on her springy legs. I had to maneuver myself between her body and the tree so that I could work on freeing the last branch. Trouble with doing that was that once I did that my back was to her, and Gavitt took off thumping around the tree on hands and knees, pausing to snatch off a bulb and throw it away,  then dove into the presents and flailed her arms to scatter them about, laughing,  or whatever approximates laughing in babies. 

Gavitt seized a present and ripped off some of the wrapping and stuffed it into her mouth. She didn’t like the taste and spat out the chewed mess onto another present.

I lunged and grabbed her foot but Gavitt kept struggling until her tiny shoe slipped off. She liked that feeling and paused to pull off her other shoe and cast that one up into the branches of the Christmas tree. She looked up at it, gurgling happily. I paused for breath and recalled reading about the ancient Greek wrestler, Anteaus, who grew stronger whenever he was thrown to the ground. It seemed Gavitt was a kind of Anteaus, who grew stronger as she scrambled on the floor, and I grew weaker trying to keep up, let alone control her.

I sank down onto the floor on my back. I heard Gavitt scrabbling among the presents and pounding on them. I knew I had to rise and prevent her from hurting herself. What if she decided to chew on the Christmas tree light cord?  Maybe it was premonition because when I opened my eyes, I saw Gavitt tugging on the Christmas tree light cord. You could tell she liked the jiggling motion of the colored lights. I wondered if the lights were hot to the touch. Best not to take the chance. I covered a light with my hand just before Gavitt’s tiny fingers closed on it. Oh, yes, hot all right. Not too painful for me but maybe so for her.  There were so many lights for her to go for, so many for me to protect, and the bulbs, too, were very tempting, as were the presents. I had to steer Gavitt away from the tree.

“Come on, Gavitt, look at this.” I held up a jingling little bear toy and shook it. She exhorted a short, “Ah,” meaning I thought, “Big deal, I know about that.” “Ahhh,” she turned away from me and took off again, aiming for a nice, juicy, red bulb. 

I pulled her away from the Christmas tree and the presents. I saw three bulbs resting on the rug and several mangled presents lying scattered near the tree. Gavitt struggled to escape my grasp and held out her little arms towards the tree, opening and closing her hands. “Ahh!” she pleaded. “You can play with them when your mama returns,” I said, immediately regretting saying the mama word.

“Mama? Mama? MAMA! MAMA!” The mama word mixed with wails of anguish. Gavitt flung back a hand and a sharp, little fingernail struck the corner of my right eye. I released my right arm from her to rub the scratch and Gavitt twisted away from me but I grabbed her left arm. She was lunging for the tree, screaming “MAMA,” me holding onto her arm with one hand and rubbing my bleeding scratch with the other hand when the adults burst through the door. 

“We heard Gavitt crying when we got out of the car,” said Lucille. “Is she hurt?” 

Belle rushed to Gavitt and picked her up. The wailing ceased and I sank to the floor on my back. My wife and in-laws surveyed the chaos. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” said Dick. “Let me get you a beer.”

“Yes,” I said from my position on the floor, hands covering my face.  “Please don’t leave me alone with her again.”

Several years later, after Gavitt had married, I sent this story to her. Gavitt replied with an email, saying that my babysitting story arrived the same day that she found out she was pregnant.