Maternity Leave (9781466871533) (22 page)

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What is your highest level of education? Why did you stop there?

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Do you currently have a job? Why are you leaving? Are they making you leave? If we do the same, will you leave us?

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Are you going to leave us if you find a better position?

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Are there any activities or responsibilities you won't do? That you want to do but we won't let you?

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Do you exercise regularly? Kids require a lot of energy. Please outline your exercise regime and your diet.

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Have you ever been convicted of a crime? What did you do? Is jail anything like
Orange Is the New Black
?

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How do you feel about writing down everything you do with the baby for the entire time you are here? I will provide a handy chart for your convenience.

Deal breakers:

They try on my clothes.

They give Sam fast food.

They let Sam watch violent TV.

They let Sam watch porn.

They make a porn film in our house.

They hurt Sam.

They steal from us.

They steal Zach from me.

Note: Hire an old, toothless nanny.

*   *   *

Zach and I talk, and using a nanny agency is way out of our price range. We decide to go with the website Louise used, where we can post our own listing and the applicants will flock to us. At least I hope they will.

SEEKING PART-TIME NANNY
for one adorable, sweet, mostly pleasant five-month-old boy. Must have previous experience with age group. Looking for someone connected to the arts, preferably with a music and/or education background. We keep a child-healthy home, so minimal television watching and only healthy snacks allowed once child is of age. Must be comfortable reheating and feeding mother's pumped breastmilk. Looking for long-term help, with time off for summer vacation. Please send résumé and three letters of recommendation to …

What if no one thinks we sound cool? What if no one applies? What if the only applicants we get are unhygienic psychopaths who, after we interview them in our house, become obsessive stalkers who kidnap Sam after we fail to hire them?

How do people do this?!

143 Days Old

A couple of nibbles on our listing. So far, I'm not overly impressed. But who would impress me? I'm of the mind to write up a truly perfect description of a nanny, rip it to shreds, send it into the fireplace, and wait for Mary fucking Poppins to arrive.

I don't want to interview people who only seem okay. I want someone who speaks three languages and is putting herself through medical school to become a neonatal specialist. How do I know if any of these people are going to take care of my kid the way I want him taken care of when I'm not around? Am I going to be one of those people who installs nanny cams strategically placed in dismantled teddy bears throughout our home? I'm sure they have systems that I can access directly from my smartphone. What if I'm so busy addictively checking my phone for Sam's progress that I get fired from my job?

At least then I wouldn't need to hire a nanny.

144 Days Old

The nanny pool is still very slim. Four applicants.

“These two sound fine,” Zach says over dinner, a new Thai restaurant. This one cuts their tofu into cute little cubes.

“Fine?
Fine?
” I scoop out a cashew with my fork and bite into it. “This is good,” I note of the food. “But fine? How can you possibly be even remotely comfortable with having a merely fine person taking care of your only heir?”

“I never thought of Sam as an heir before. You are the son, and the heir…” Zach recalls a song by The Smiths. “You're right,” he says, resigned. “But I don't want you to worry so much. They wouldn't let people answer our ads if they were raging lunatics, would they?”

“It scares me when you are that ignorant, Zach. Seriously. Maybe they faked their résumés. Maybe they've concocted completely false identities and use nannying as a front for their human trafficking business. Or maybe they're going to turn our house into a crack den,” I suggest, pointing wisely with a baby corn at the end of my fork. “The question is: How do we know? Will we ever get to a point where we really truly know this person who has our son's life in her hands?”

“Jesus. Maybe
I'll
just quit my job,” Zach grumbles.

“Don't think I wouldn't use the nanny cam on you,” I threaten.

“I'd count on it.”

I pout over my golden cashew nut until Zach says, “Why don't you set up one interview and see how it goes? Maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised.”

“In all the years you've known me, how many times have I been pleasantly surprised?”

“We're in trouble, Sammy,” Zach asides. When he sees I'm deadly serious, he says, “Annie, this isn't like you. I mean, fretting over every detail until it's perfect is, but I'm kind of surprised you didn't choose a nanny months ago.”

“Fuck, Zach. Do you know how big of a douche you just sounded like? Why is this all on me? We'll both be at work! If I didn't do this, where did you think
our
kid would go? And this isn't like me because I'm not just
me
anymore. I'm me plus a mom, and that trumps everything! What makes you immune?”

Zach looks stunned, frozen mid-chew. “I'm sorry?” he tries.

“I know. But don't give me shit about this. It's huge. Bigger than anything. Our kid's life will be in someone else's hands, and I'm not going to fuck it up.”

“I know you won't. That's why I rely on you too much in these situations. In pretty much all situations, actually.”

“As long as you're aware of your colossal dependence and my obvious superiority.”

“I'm well aware because you rarely let me forget.”

“Don't overcompensate for your inadequacies by making me feel insecure about my perfectionism! It's not about you, Zach. It's about the baby. Finding the right person for the baby so we don't regret the choice later. Because everything we do from now on until the end of us is about him. And if your only help is going to be criticizing my awesomeness, then I don't want to hear another word.”

“Damn,” Zach surrenders, “you are a mother.”

“And don't you forget it.
I can't,
” I add.

145 Days Old

Even though I won last night's argument, Zach made a good point about scheduling a single interview. I set up an interview with one of the four applicants, chosen because she has an undergraduate degree from her native Ukraine. To me, this says intelligence and ambition. She also has held two nanny positions already, so she has experience. Her emails were somewhat brief, if not also stilted, but I chalk that up to the younger generation's penchant for abbreviating everything and for the curse that is autocorrect. She seemed nice enough, and thankfully she is currently between jobs and can come by as early as tomorrow. Our interview is set for nine
A.M.

What do I wear? If I dress in my normally schlubby attire, she won't respect me as an employer. Or she'll think I'm cool and laid-back. If I dress like a grown-up, maybe I'll scare her off. Or she'll take me seriously and know I mean business.

I'm so anxious, I go twice through the Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin-Robbins drive-thru: morning for donuts, after lunch for ice cream. Who was the genius who thought of that double necessity? I wish I could hire her to be Sam's nanny.

146 Days Old

The interview was a total bust, and frankly it made me feel like a royal asshole. Polina seemed very nice. I answered the door, she presented herself professionally in a tidy dress and sensible flats. She cooed and smiled at Sam, who did not hesitate to smile back. But when it came time to ask my arsenal of Very Important Questions, that's where we ran into trouble. Polina and I had a very large, some might say cavernous, communication gap. That is, neither of us could understand a word of what the other said. It reminded me of my travels to Italy, when I naively believed I could talk to people because I took three years of high school Spanish. Occasionally one word would be understood, and it was like we won a consolation prize on a game show—we were so happy to connect, but then we'd recognize that one word wasn't as exciting as we thought.

The interview was brief, and there were a lot of friendly nods and misfired handshakes.

Was I being too picky? Close-minded? What if she was a great nanny, she just spoke a different language? And her English would surely improve over time. She did arrive in the United States only two months ago. But if we didn't understand her, how would she know what I needed from her? How would I know what she did with Sam all day? What if there was an emergency, and things went from bad to worse in the amount of time it took for the two of us to figure out what the other was saying?

Discouraged, I checked the website. No more nanny applicants as of yet.

I'm fucked.

I wonder how you say that in Ukrainian.

147 Days Old

I go back to work in three weeks. Time has not flown, yet I cannot believe I go back to work so soon. Even without a nanny in place, I still have to get my breastmilk stored up for my imminent departure. I also have to figure out how I am going to fit in pumping between classes at work. I designed a schedule for myself during grading periods so I can pump twice a day, ensuring my milk supply remains up and I don't get too uncomfortable. The only place I can think to do the pumping is the supply closet in my classroom. I know colleagues have pumped in the bathroom, but how does that work? I sit on the toilet and have my naked breasts hanging out in a stall while someone sits on the pot adjacent to me taking a shit? No, thank you. And I know from the Kesha concert that the pump requires gobs of batteries to operate. Instead, I'll drag a student desk into my supply closet, along with my iPad for watching movies to distract me from the awkwardness of being topless so close to hundreds of pubescent boys. I think it will be okay. As long as nobody goes searching for a classroom set of
The Old Man and the Sea
while I'm in midpump.

To: Annie

From: Louise

Subject: HOLYFUCKBASKETJESUSCHRISTOHMYGODWHYWHYWHY

Annie, I am in hell. God and Satan are laughing at me, and I am ready to visit them both and punch them in the balls.

I'm pregnant.

I AM FUCKING PREGNANT.

How the fuck did this happen? Terry wanted to have sex, and I was like, sure, whatever, and with Jupiter and Gertie I didn't start getting my period again until after they turned one, so I didn't even think about using birth control and NOW I'M PREGNANT AGAIN and I am way too old and insane for this. What if this baby is an even bigger asshole than my other two kids? What if I never take a shit by myself again? All I envision are three zombies clawing and groaning outside the bathroom door. I'll tell you one thing I'm never doing again: having sex. Terry can hire a prostitute or we can add some sister wives because this vag is closed for business. Oh, Annie, wake me when this nightmare is over.

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

To: Louise

From: Annie

Dear Lou,

I cannot believe it. I am in shock. I screamed when I read your email. All I can say is that everyone says the more you have, the easier it gets. Maybe the third will be the sweetest and nicest and most well-behaved. My friend Fern has four, and she told me her third and fourth are the best. Little comfort, I realize. Call me if you want to talk. We can yell over our crying babies.

xo,

Annie

FACEBOOK STATUS

Sam is napping going on two hours, and I am wasting these unheard-of precious minutes by reading a Tumblr page called “Duggars Confessions.”

 

To: Fern

From: Annie

I've been thinking of you and wondering how it's going with Adam. Remember my friend Louise from school? She had a baby right after I did, and she just found out she's pregnant again! I don't know what I'd do if I were pregnant again so soon. I think my vagina started crying at the thought.

Call or write when you can.

xo Annie

148 Days Old

Today is Sam's first music class. I try to dress him in clothes that make him look older. His Harley-Davidson onesie from the in-laws gives him that rough-and-tumble look, but the ridiculous (albeit hilarious) assortment of plaid shorts he owns aren't helping the cause. Maybe I could draw a mustache on him.

Sam and I arrive at the park district building three minutes before class is set to start. I find the classroom number, and a warm woman with a soothing voice welcomes the gaggle of parents and kids waiting outside into a carpeted room, sans all furniture but a table in the corner. There are four other moms, one dad, and one man who must be a grandpa or else a seriously old dad. Of course, I instantly imagine him having sex. Definitely the grandpa.

As I scan the room, I can't help but compare Sam with the other kids. He is certainly in the upper echelon of cuteness, although he may be neck and neck with a boy sporting the most hair I've ever seen for a six-month-old. The teacher, who presents herself as Miss Randi, gathers us into a circle on the floor. We introduce ourselves and our babies, two of which are named Jackson, although one is spelled J-a-x-s-o-n, the mother notes. I silently question the use of both an x and an s. When it's my turn, I tell the group my name and Sam's, and Miss Randi mentions, “He's so tiny.”

I quickly concoct a lie to cover my age flub. “He was a preemie.” Damn. Now I'm making up medical history for the boy. All I wanted was for him to get a little music education!