I am in the process of trying to find someone (ok, I'll say it: a nanny. Why do I feel like I'm trying to sound hoity toity when I use that word?) to look after Elaine when I start my contract job after I'm finished at the ballet. The only thing I can compare it to is trying to shop for roommates, which I did several times before Brandon and I became lifelong roommates (those of you who know the story may snicker now). You sit and talk to a total stranger for 30 minutes, maybe 60, and you are supposed to quickly assess whether this is someone you feel comfortable sharing house keys with, and whether they seem likely to wipe Cheeto-stained fingers on your sofa. Except in the current scenario, I am supposed to decide if it is someone I feel confident leaving alone with MY BABY DAUGHTER.
What?!
This is insane. I look at Elaine and I immediately know exactly what my priorities are. Or rather, what my priority is. She is unquestionably the most important thing in my life, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, the only thing that has ever woken me up at 3am without incurring even the slightest twinge of irritation. The only negative emotion I have ever had about that baby is in the form of the completely terrifying feeling of vulnerability I have when I really assess my feelings for her: I can't imagine how I would go on if anything bad were ever to happen to her, particularly if it were my fault. I love her so much it's almost sort of embarrassing -- part of me desperately hopes she knows or in some way senses how much I love her, and another part of me really hopes she doesn't because she might get a little scared and run away.
What I'm getting at is that trying to select a perfect stranger with whom I can conceive of leaving this angel of my existence is actually 7 jillion times more difficult than finding a roommate, scientifically speaking. I feel like Jerry Seinfeld in his willingness to dismiss love interests for the tiniest of irregularities or missteps. I could nitpick anyone to death. She didn't spend nearly enough time gazing adoringly at Elaine. She didn't wash her hands the moment she walked in the door. Her hangnails might scratch my baby. She ended a sentence with a preposition.
There are several factors that make it particularly dicey to leave a child Elaine's age in the care of a complete stranger.
1) Elaine can't talk (tattle).
2) Elaine can't run.
3) Elaine does not know how to identify the smell of Jack Daniels on someone's breath.
Yes of course I will check references for any nanny I hire to care for my daughter. And yes we are toying with the idea of rigging the house with nannycams (ok, for a house the size of ours we could probably get by with just one). And yes I am making a point to tell all interviewees that my sister lives just down the road and could pop in, unannounced, at any moment to borrow a cup of sugar or examine the state of Elaine's diaper (this is nearly patently untrue since my sister is roughly two days away from giving birth to her third child; her eldest is not yet 3. "Popping in" is a concept that has no application in her existence). But I still can't imagine even making an inevitable phone call: "Hi, Jane Doe? Brandon and I would like to have you take Elaine out of the safety of my arms and spend your days cultivating her magnificence while we are locked away in offices in the city. Please don't spend the entire time rooting around in our cupboard for snacks."
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