Not Your Mama

I was reading one of my favorite blogs last week (ISawYourNanny.com, if you're wondering) when a certain posting caught my eye. A nanny was fired after her charged called her mom, terminated almost immediately by an insecure employer with mixed-up priorities. I was instantly sympathetic. In a past life, I worked for a family in an affluent Manhattan suburb - two working parents, more then willing to pay me my exorbinant fees in exchange for never having to deal with their children. In some ways, it was a dream job. I saw my bosses for a total of 30 minutes every week, give or take, and was given almost free reign to do what I wished with their children. I did not abuse that priviliege - they had three spectacular children that I loved and cared for as well as a twenty-year old girl knew how. Their two older children were school aged so I spent the majority of the day with their baby, a precocious five year old girl who loved puppies, playgrounds, and playdates. We went everywhere together, holding hands and singing songs and developing a special kind of friendship that I treasure to this day.

She cried when I left - not for good (which I eventually did) but Every. Single. Day. Her father would come home and her little arms would circle my leg, refusing to let go until I promised to return bright and early the next morning. Occasionally, she would call and check in on the weekends, making her big sister dial my number and then leave the room so we could have a "private" conversation. She drew me in her family pictures, asked me to read to her class, and introduced me as her Best Friend to anyone willing to listen to her. I loved her and she loved me and it was a good thing, I think. But it wasn't easy, on me or on her parents, I would imagine. I couldn't handle the pressure - and they couldn't handle the truth.

The situation came to a head on Special Person's Day at her school. I had left the flier for her parents to handle - it was 8:00 pm on a Saturday, not my territory. Someone marked it on the calendar and I put it out of my head, as it had already been dealt with. The Friday before, as I got ready to leave, my sweet friend asked me what I was wearing to the festivities the next night. I reminded her that it was on a Saturday and she would be going with her parents. And she lost it. "THEY ARE NOT SPECIAL! THEY ARE NOT SPECIAL!" Her father calmly told her that they were going as a family, that Mommy and Daddy were her special people and Red Meghan would be with her family and friends and could not come. But she did not care. She did not stop. When I finally left, at least thirty minutes later, she was still inconsolable. But what could I say? What could I do? A few months later, it became too much and I moved on. So did they. She loves her sitter now, as much as she loved me, maybe more - who knows. But I will never forget how I felt in that moment - frozen to the floor, afraid to speak. Unafraid to speak what had always remained unspoken - that she had parents, parents who loved her and cared for her and did what they thought was best to give her the life they thought she wanted. And then she had me - a person who was always there for her.

I love my daughter's childcare provider - almost as much as she does. And every morning, when she squirms in her seat, reaching up to touch Cidalia's face, cooing with pleasure at the sight of her - I feel a sigh of relief. Because I don't work because I want to - I work because I have to. And I have found someone who shares in the joy and love I have for my daughter. She is not Maggie's Mommy and I know that. She knows that. Even Maggie knows that. But the more love she has for Cidalia - the better. It's a blessing, not a curse, to have a caregiver who loves your child. And when the feeling is mutual? The best feeling in the world.