Ill-Prepared, Again
Many Manhattan families have one nanny per a child. “It helps with the scheduling,” they reason. I do not. I have one nanny for two children and I still cringe at the word nanny. It sounds so privileged and as a harried mother of two working sporadically at home, I don’t feel privileged. Logistically, I’d much rather have a massage at the gym instead of paying my nanny to watch the kids. While I don’t divert the funds to the masseuse, I still ensure that I have at least one day a week without help. Usually a day with lots of activities scheduled.
I tried to enroll the kids in back to back gymnastics class. First my daughter would watch her one year old brother climb the equipment and then she would have her turn while my son would theoretically sleep in the stroller. The first week, the nanny went and the teacher called to tell me how famously everyone got along. My toddler patiently watched her brother take the class and then my son watched, not terribly tired while his sister participated.
The following week I eagerly brought both kids ten minutes early, thrilled that the classes would eat up an hour and a half of our day and tire the kids out for a solid two hour nap afterwards during which I’d pay bills, write in my blog, try to secure this real estate deal, return phone calls and emails. A mom can dream.
The instructor told me I was ten minutes early and the kids could not yet play. When she did open up the floor and we were the only people waiting, my toddler was still not allowed on the equipment.
“What did you bring for her?” the instructor asked. I, uh, stuttered. “You didn’t bring a coloring book?” she shook her head in disbelief. My daughter had eaten the special snacks I packed on the walk over. I have Dora and Blues Clues on my iPhone but I try to discourage her eyes being mesmerized by cartoons, so I did not offer that. In the beginning of the class, my daughter sat in the folding chair with her arms in the air pleading with me to carry her. Why hadn't the teacher last week commented on how my daughter entertained herself during her brother's lesson?
I politely asked one parent if she had any extra toys to share. She handed me a Yo Gabba Gabba doll that my daughter was convinced needed batteries. Another parent (two parents were free to attend this class?) sat with my daughter and even brought her to the bathroom.
When it was my daughter’s turn, my son cried in the stroller, unable to sleep. I pushed the stroller, I fed him, I handed him the iPhone. All to no avail.
Leaving the class, I decided to send the nanny next time.
This is an original post for NYC Moms Blog. Helen P chronicles other misadventures as Milf Alert.
