We take the baby everywhere. She's been to nice restaurants and to radio conventions. She's been to guitar lessons, dentist appointments, church services and ballgames. It feels right to take her when we go out, but it feels equally right to stay home and play stack-the-cups or peek-a-boo. We had lots of outings before she came along, and we'll have plenty more once she's a bit older. The truth is, we have more fun with her than when we leave her behind. Maybe my reluctance to use babysitters stems from the fact that I had very few of them as a child. We had grandparents and aunts who took care of us. A babysitter who wasn't a relative was a real novelty. The prospect of having a teenager come to the house to watch us was incredibly exciting.

One memorable evening, my parents hired a boy to baby-sit. For some reason now lost to memory, we called him Ali Baba. He made red Kool-Aid and Jiffy-Pop popcorn, which in that pre-microwave era represented the very height of snack food technology. The popping of the kernels, the flame of the burner, and then, like magic, the bulging foil turban that grew and grew and finally burst! Was there anything more amazing than Jiffy-Pop? Shrieking and jumping on the furniture, we romped and tussled and threw ourselves at Ali Baba and each other. He chased us out of the house and into the backyard, a pale blue blanket clasped at his neck with a wooden clothespin, forming a makeshift cape that billowed behind him. How thrilling it was to be outside at night, the wet grass soaking through my footed pajamas, the lights of our kitchen seemingly so far away. Banging past the screen door, we collapsed on the living room rug and passed out from exhaustion. It was a glorious time, but my mom never hired him again. Maybe we destroyed the house. Or maybe he and the friend he'd brought along were really, really stoned, which seems closer to the truth, now that I look back on it. My mom was the grooviest in the neighborhood, but even she had her limits.

At twelve or thirteen, I became a baby-sitter. One of my regulars was a rowdy little eight year-old terror named Scott. He was spookily precocious, though his gifts leaned more toward the criminal than the academic. He was barely interested in board games or television and almost never took his eyes off of me. He wanted to wrestle -- a lot. I wanted to do my math homework. One night, he casually suggested that the two of us get drunk. He brought a bottle of wine vinegar out of the kitchen, and while I shuddered in disbelief, chugged it down without so much as a grimace. On another occasion, he invited me to take a look at what he'd found in his father's bedside table: dark, blurry Polaroids of his parents - naked. I was too embarrassed to tell his mom about it, which meant that Scott and I shared a secret. The little beast eventually tried to blackmail me with it, leading me to conclude that three dollars an hour just wasn't worth this kind of hassle. I signed up for a paper route instead.

The only babysitter Olivia has ever known is my friend Marsha. The first time she baby-sat, we came home to find the two of them sprawled on the front porch, the baby snoring, Marsha with a glazed look on her face and an ominous dark stain on her pants. There had been hours of tears, bellows, and a disastrous diaper accident. We were aghast, but Marsha simply handed Olivia over and said that everything was fine. We pressed her for details. She explained that when the baby had refused to be comforted, they'd come outside into the soft night air, and that it calmed Olivia and lulled her to sleep. Marsha brushed off our apologies and asked us when she could mind Olivia again -- proof that she was no ordinary babysitter, but true family indeed. We stood on the darkened porch, cradling our daughter, who was damply fragrant in the way that all sleeping babies are, and let the nighttime quiet settle around us. It's funny how, when warmth and light are just steps away, the cool, dark night loses its power to frighten and instead soothes and beckons sleep. Even Ali Baba knew that, a long time ago.