Rory Gibson: Looking after kids is a tough gig

Toddlers are like terminators, unstoppable juggernauts intent on destruction, writes Rory Gibson.

Generic picture of toddler getting up to mischief around the house.

I was called upon to be an emergency babysitter last weekend. I’m still recovering.

So too, no doubt, are the other three adults who figured prominently in this situation.

My son Will and his partner Emma had been invited to a wedding but their babysitter had to cancel at short notice.

Baby Navy needed somewhere to dock for the night while his parents got hammered – sorry, I mean celebrated the sacred union of two people in love – and I got the call-up.

They wanted me to spend the night at their house on the Gold Coast but I had a friend, Paul, coming to town and we had a boys night planned which involved steaks, beer and watching footy. I said I could look after Navy but only if they drove to Byron Bay so I could pick him up from there and take him back to my place in Yamba for the night.

Clearly desperate to have a childless night and a long sleep-in they accepted the condition with rude haste. I didn’t mind though … at 20 months old it was time for Navy to start learning secret men’s business.

The drive back from Byron was great. Navy slept the whole way. That’s as good as it got.

I’d forgotten that toddlers are like terminators, unstoppable juggernauts intent on destruction and unafraid of putting themselves in harm’s way.

By the time Paul arrived I was already exhausted from trying to prevent the rug rat from tumbling head-first down the steps, climbing into the oven or pulling the contents of the knife draw on to his head.

The look on Paul’s face when I put The Wiggles on instead of the footy was one of shock and bewilderment, but my capacity for empathy was obliterated by then.

Paul, who wouldn’t have held a baby for 20 years, had to get up in the night to attend to Navy’s needs because I slept through the cacophony.

He also got him up in the morning. What a trooper. It was like we were living in a sequel to Three Men and a Baby. The best part of the weekend was driving back to the Gold Coast and dumping Navy in the laps of the two most hungover people I’ve seen since Australia II won the Americas Cup in 1983. As they now know, freedom has a price.