Babysitting

6:21 a.m. -- 5 mos., 12 days

M had a work retreat late last week, a two-day gathering of 25 of her peers (division leaders, mostly) and corporate brass at a conference center about an hour out of the city. We decided the best strategy was for Baby A and me to tag along, so M wouldn't have to shuttle back and forth or worry about pumping breast milk in the midst of meetings.

This worked just fine for M and Baby A.

We arrived the night before the retreat began. The large hotel, which includes a 9-hole golf course and tennis complex, was institutional and anodyne. Whatever leftover childhood excitement I have about hotel stays was, as usual, wiped away in the first 30 minutes, with the realization that the shower, mattress, and food were inferior to ours at home.

Not to mention Baby A's entertainment options. We'd brought a couple of favorite rattles and books, but the array -- as well as our ability to change environments when she got bored -- was limited.

But no worries. It was only for a couple of nights. Plus, meal times promised me some adult company for a change. M had checked with her bosses, and they'd assured her that Baby A and I would be most welcome at all of the non-business gatherings.

We awoke hungry on the retreat's first day and ordered room service. About an hour later the three of us went down to where the attendees were gathering for a pre-meeting breakfast. M carried Baby A, who as usual attracted admirers and adorers. I introduced myself to a couple of division leaders.

"So you're taking care of the baby for a couple of days?" one asked.

"That's my current job, actually," I said, explaining about the semester off.

"That's funny," the other said. "We were just talking about the definition of 'work.'"

"Well," I said, "what I do every day doesn't exactly engage higher-level brain function, but I'd certainly define it as work."

They smiled vaguely and didn't respond. I shifted. Then M needed me to take Baby A for a minute, and after some more infant admiring I retreated with her back to our room.

For some reason, Baby A hated the golf course. I'd thought it would be a perfect place to stroll, closed to golfers for the winter but with cart paths that accommodated our stroller. But she wailed for more than half of our 45-minute walk, undiverted by the ducks, geese, bridges, and manicured, marshy fairways, before falling into a fitful sleep. She was fussy again when she woke up. I was glad when lunch rolled around.

A long line awaited us at the impressively arrayed buffet table. I chatted with a guy who was running sound for the retreat. I should have known from his first comment that he wasn't connected to M's company, when he admired my Chuck Taylors. Nice guy.

By the time M and I got through the line, most of the tables were filled. I walked over to two vacant chairs and sat down.

Sorry, I was told, another vice president is sitting here.

I stood up. Plate in hand, I moved to the center of the room. A division leader, who's in my field and whom I'd met at a couple of professional conferences, walked past.

"So you're here babysitting?" he said.

"Umm, I guess you could say that."

"Well, good to see you."

The staffer organizing the retreat saw us standing awkwardly. (Someone else was dandling Baby A at one of the tables.) Here, she said, you guys can sit at this table.

I sat down.

Sorry, someone said, the CEO's sitting there.

I stood up.

The staffer apologized. We'll get someone to add a couple of chairs, she said. Just wait a minute.

Either sensing my discomfort or feeling uncomfortable herself, M said, "Forget it. We'll just go back to the room."

Which we did. M grabbed the baby, and I carried her plate. "That's the last time I'm doing that," I said. "That was humiliating."

"I'm sorry," M said, abashed. "She told me there'd be plenty of room."

"Yeah, whatever."

M had to return to the buffet to grab silverware. When she returned, she said the staffer had apologized to her again and told her they were bringing more chairs.

"Forget it," I said.

We ate in stony silence. Baby A played happily on the mattress.

The incident caused a bit of kerfluffle. Apparently the hotel had put us in a lunch space that failed to accommodate the size of the retreat; we weren't the only ones without seats. The retreat organizer told the CEO, who apologized to M personally and reiterated that her husband and baby were more than welcome at all future meals. The organizer told M repeatedly that I should certainly come to the evening reception and dinner. During our afternoon golf course stroll (we went the opposite way, from Hole 9 to Hole 1; Baby A cried about half the time), the hotel staff left a message on our phone apologizing for the mistake and ensuring us that we would have sufficient space at any future meal.

I passed.

"Imagine," I said to M as she changed for the reception. "You come to your husband's company retreat, caring for our baby. You're invited to the meals, but there's a similar fuck up. You get asked if you're the 'babysitter.' There's no other reason for you to be there. You feel conflicted enough about giving up your career. Would you want to swallow hard, smile, and hang out with my colleagues?"

M said she understood. She took Baby A to the reception. I swam laps and sat in the sauna, ate dinner by myself, then watched movies in the room and put Baby A to sleep. The next day, I ate room service while M took Baby A to breakfast. During our morning walk, Baby A cried for more than four holes. I requested that we leave after the last meeting and skip lunch, which M kindly did. We drove home.

Next time, I said, I'll let you bring the breast pump.