“Anyone know a reliable babysitter who can come last minute?”
This group chat erupted on a Friday evening, quickly filled with dismissive “nope!”s and “good luck!”s, accompanied by a flurry of sad emojis from unfamiliar numbers. The truth is, no one parts with that number easily. Apart from the original poster, none of those names were in my contacts, and none will receive a reply from me.
I could justify my silence by saying that the requester wasn’t a close friend, or that I was preoccupied wrangling my kids in the frigid darkness of January. But the real reason is much simpler: I can’t let go of my one precious resource.
When it comes to babysitters, I have one number. Just one. Outside of family, there is only one person I trust with my children. This isn’t about being overly selective; it’s a matter of necessity. I have a five-year-old son with cerebral palsy, whose forty-pound frame feels like a hundred when I’m carrying him up the stairs or lifting him into his wheelchair. He communicates with limited speech, so it takes a special kind of intuition—part psychic, part lip reader—to understand his needs. His babysitter, a dedicated employee at his preschool, has been with him since he was two. I can’t risk losing the only person I trust to care for him.
Finding a capable babysitter—one who is older than fourteen, responsible, and available—can be quite a challenge, especially this time of year. But for families like mine, the stakes are much higher. It requires a unique skill set, a secret handshake, and some serious magic to ensure I feel comfortable leaving my children in someone else’s care.
The importance of safeguarding that number began when we brought our son home from the hospital. He had a tracheotomy, a suction machine, an oxygen monitor, and a g-tube. Leaving the house was a daunting prospect, and date nights felt like distant memories. Just before I was set to return to work, we had to forgo the daycare we had arranged a year in advance. How could we expect them to handle his feeding pump or suction his trach? We relied on a registered nurse or my mother instead.
Thankfully, as our son grew and outgrew some of his medical complexities, we no longer required a nurse. Yet we still need someone strong enough and trained to meet his specific needs. And let’s not forget, I also have twins! They embody the delightful chaos of threenagers, and while they may not require the same level of physical assistance, they demand constant supervision. They can turn a perfectly normal bathroom break into a disaster within seconds.
This is why I let that text go unanswered. Our family requires a very particular kind of babysitter—someone akin to the Navy SEALs of childcare. I know I’m not alone in this. Other parents of children with special needs share the same concerns. Our free time is limited, and finding someone we trust is paramount.
It’s not a personal matter; it’s about the business of caring for my family. We must keep our trusted circle close.
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In summary, safeguarding my babysitter’s number isn’t just about being protective; it’s about the unique needs of my family, requiring a specific level of expertise and trust that is hard to find.