Secret Nanny Club (6 page)

And now I have no Samira to help share the load. She’s
gone. Yes, Samira left citing homesickness. Even though I was little taken aback when I realised she was going, it’s

a
sort of relief to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, she was a nice enough girl, and I could have done a lot worse, but she really hadn’t made any effort to integrate with

myself
and John and she wasn’t able to use her initiative at all. I mean every couple of minutes she’d be knocking on my bedroom door, asking questions. Where are John’s

nappies
? Where is the sweeping brush? What time are we having tea? Have you seen my phone? It was enough to drive me around the bend! And she seemed to have quite a

bad
Facebook addiction too. She was never off the frigging laptop. I mean, what was she writing about all day? Me? I dread to think. Maybe she was telling her friends that she

was
having a really boring time in Ireland with an overweight single mum. Who knows?

She completely surprised me too. After all, I had no
idea she was unhappy. And then one night after I had retired to my room she pushed a short note under my door telling me she would be leaving the next day. Anyway, she has gone now. And once more I find

myself
without any childminder. The first thing I did when she left was open the window in her room as she had never once opened it during her stay. Now I’ve completely cleared out her room and given it a good scrubbing and an airing. I want it to look nice and cosy

and
welcoming before the next girl arrives. Of course I would really love to keep it as a nursery for Baby John and fill it with cute bunnies and teddies, and paint it sky blue, but I am broke, and anyway I don’t even know if the landlord would allow me to paint the walls. So the

way
things are we have to manage the best we can with John’s cot in my room.

I need to get another minder so the search goes on.
I’m going to go for an older girl this time. An older girl will be mature and should have experience with children. Samira was only eighteen years of age and I felt she was a bit nonplussed with Baby John. She sometimes even sighed when I asked her to do simple tasks like putting out the bin or hanging the washing on the drying rail. She wasn’t the tidiest of people either and a few times I had to reprimand her for leaving her dirty dishes in the sink for me to wash up. Sometimes I used to think she’d come to Ireland for a rest!

An older girl will hopefully not be moping around the
place waiting for something exciting to happen, and not be addicted to using social-networking sites. Maybe I could get an Irish nanny-type from down the country that would go home every weekend? I think a situation like that might suit better actually. First of all, an Irish girl wouldn’t be homesick and, second of all, I wouldn’t mind having the place to myself at the weekends just in case I ever meet a man again. I know, I know, but miracles do happen sometimes, and I don’t think I could get too passionate if I knew the au pair was in the room next door.

I actually have an ad running on the internet right at
this minute. I put it up a while ago and included a small photo of myself and John. So, yes, the ad is live. I’m so short of cash right now I can’t even afford to go through an agency. The ad is up on one of those free buy-and-sell sites. I hope it doesn’t seem too dodgy to be looking for Miss Right online. I have all my fingers and toes crossed that I get somebody compatible with us, and also fun. Samira wasn’t fun but she was very trustworthy which of course is the most important thing. And at least she didn’t go out drinking like other girls do. I mean you hear some horror stories. Young Brazilians, apparently, party until dawn when they come over here to mind

children
!

I made a list in advance. I wanted to be clear about
what I needed this time. So here are my ten commandments. My wish list for my very own Mary Poppins is that she

must
:

1. Smile a lot. I feel this is important. If you smile at a
baby he or she will naturally smile back. Anyway, I don’t want a grumpy puss around the house. It’s bad enough being broke without someone glaring at me all the time in my own home.

2. Have
shortish hair. Okay, I know that sounds bizarre but Samira had hair way down her back and insisted on washing it every morning. It meant she was hogging the bathroom for at least forty minutes every morning using up all the hot water. Then, to add insult to injury, she’d leave long dark hairs in the bath for me to retrieve from the plughole after she was finished. That’s why this time I’m looking for somebody with medium to short hair. Preferably a skinhead!

3.
Be thinnish. Now I know this is quite an un-PC thing to say and, believe me, I am quite a large lady myself, but I’d like the new girl to be slim and fit. If she’s slim she’s probably watching her weight and won’t eat me out of house and home. She will also have plenty of energy to take John out for long walks in the pram which will be nice because at least then I’ll have some ‘me’ time to read a chapter of my book or take a warm bubble bath. These are two treats that I used to take for granted in my pre-baby days and now I miss them both like hell! You wouldn’t catch me out clubbing on a Saturday night off. Hell, no! A bath and a book and I’m as happy as Larry. So anyway, I don’t want a huge au pair. If

she’s
thin she might inspire me to lose the baby weight of which I have lost none so far. At least if there’s a skinny bitch walking around the house, I might be shamed into not devouring a packet of chocolate biscuits all in one go.

4. Not be mega-popular. I don’t mean she should have no
friends at all in a weird, loner/loser type way. But she shouldn’t have hundreds of giggling pals coming and going. I don’t want the baby waking up with strangers ringing the doorbell all hours of the day and night wondering whether the au pair is coming out to play. She can have one or two friends, that’s no problem. Preferably nice, quiet girls who like knitting or something. Oh God, it really is such a big undertaking to have a complete stranger come live with you in your own home! The last thing I need is to be worrying about somebody who’s out clubbing until all hours in

a
pair of hot pants. No party animals need apply.

5. Must be independent. I’d like a girl who takes
initiative and isn’t asking me all day what she should be doing next. I’d like her to get the baby up, bathed and dressed in the mornings without me having to tell her to do it. I’d like her to surprise me with a nice cup of tea now and then.

6. Clean. Okay, so I’m not going to be asking her to
scrub the floors or clean the windows but she needs to be neat and tidy and not leave dishes in the sink. A friend of mine employed a girl recently who would leave the dishes in the sink on her day off expecting my friend to wash up after her. Honestly, you couldn’t make it up!

7. Non-smoker. I confess I used to be a smoker. I had a
filthy twenty-a-day habit. I would wake up in a fog of smoke and go to sleep in one too. There were at least two or three permanently overflowing ashtrays dotted around our old flat as myself and Sally chain smoked the evenings away. I remember once waking up at 3.00 a.m. and panicking because I couldn’t find a cigarette. I actually rang a taxi to go down to the local garage and pick up a packet for me. Of course when I got pregnant I gave up immediately. Now I’m one of those really annoying non-smokers who shoo other people’s smoke away if they’re standing smoking in a bus shelter beside me. That’s how anti-smoking I am now. I couldn’t bear to have a smoker in the house.

8. Quiet. Oh, how I do love the sound of golden
silence. Of course I am very much aware of the impracticality of longing for a quiet, noise-free home with a six-month baby, but when John goes to sleep at night I like to curl up with a book and get lost in another world. Before I had my baby I’d say I read three or four books a week. Now I find it hard even to get the book for my monthly book club read. Reading is probably the last form of entertainment I

can
afford so, therefore, if somebody was listening to a loud TV or radio in the next room I think it would drive me crazy. Maybe I should seek an au pair who also likes to read and we can swap books or something? Now, there’s an idea.

9. Calm. She must be the yin to my
yan. Sometimes I can get so worked up about things. I panic if I find myself running out of nappies and milk formula. I fret when I’ve done a huge wash of baby clothes and its pouring rain outside and I can’t dry them. Most of all, I lie awake at night worrying about money and ignoring the small pile of official brown

envelopes
stacked on the table beside the front door. I need to stop stressing so I think that a calm person could be a very good influence on me. Maybe we could do yoga together.

10. Friendly. Now this might seem like a really obvious
one, but I don’t want somebody who makes me feel like a stranger in my own home. I don’t want to dread hearing another person turn the key in my front door and wonder what uncomfortable small talk I should start engaging in. An au pair is supposed to be part of the family, but not so close to me that we are living in each other’s hair. I want to just click with somebody. I am looking for Miss Right. Surely that isn’t too much to ask?

CHAPTER FIVE

My son got his first two teeth this week. Or maybe it
was last week. I’m not too sure. You see, I was over in Mum’s at the weekend and she looked at me crookedly and said, “You never told me!”

“Never told you what?”

“About Baby John’s teeth! He’s got two of them. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I was genuinely surprised. “Oh, I didn’t know. Nobody
told me.”

“But you’re his mother!”

I felt a bit guilty then. I mean, I should have known. I should have been the first to discover them as I knew he had been teething for some time and his gums were sore, but the truth is that I’d been looking in his mouth and there was no sign of them. Like buses, two came along at once with no warning. I sent a text to Clive to tell him the good news and as

usual
I got no reply. Then I spent a bit of time wondering what other parents do. Do they celebrate occasions like these? Do they stick a camera down their baby’s gob and

post
the pics on Facebook? Isn’t that a bit OTT? Other people don’t really care, do they? Just because they feign initial interest in your tot doesn’t mean they’ve given you

the
green light to bore them to tears every time they meet you for the next few years.

I saw these really cute baby books in a stationary shop
recently. They were selling them in pink and in blue. Inside you could stick all kinds of things onto the pages such as a

lock
of your baby’s hair or his painted handprint, and record all kind of important dates like baby’s first tooth arrival etc. I wouldn’t really be into that though. I don’t want to become too obsessed. It’s unhealthy. Mind you, my mother thinks I’m the other extreme. My baby isn’t even christened yet because I can’t decide on godparents. I am trying to think of two people who will be generous and remember him on his birthday and at Christmas-time, unlike my own godmother who gave me zilch. But I’d need to get a move on. At this stage he’ll be making his Holy Communion before his christening. He’ll be walking up to the church himself and maybe even pouring a jug of water over his own head.

It’s a difficult time though. The teething thing is so
frustrating for both of us and it makes me feel so helpless. Nobody likes to see their little one in visible pain. John’s gums are sore and sometimes he screams so loudly I have to check to see nobody’s torturing him. I’ve tried everything from rubbing Bonjela on his gums, to sticking his teething ring in the freezer and I sing ‘Hush-a-bye, Baby’ from morning to night. All of it helps but there’s no miracle cure.

I met an old college friend of mine at the supermarket
recently and told him I was wrecked because of my baby’s teething.

“He’s not sleeping, poor mite, and neither am I,” I
told him bleary-eyed.

“Tell me about it,” he said, commiserating with me,
and shook his head. “I remember my own son’s teeth coming down. But,” he went on, “it’s much worse when they lose them.”