Hired help, on the other hand, I can get set rules for, make demands on, get
mad at. I can even fire them. We interviewed twenty or so sitters and hired one
who seemed lovely, but she turned out to be terrible. Our daughter hated her.
It was like she broke out in some kind of allergic reaction every time she saw
the sitter, only with screams instead of rashes. The nanny started missing days,
so we fired her. It felt, oddly, good. The transaction was clean. Nobody's
feelings got hurt. She was supposed to show up and be good with our daughter.
We were supposed to
pay her $12/hour. If either of us broke that bond, we could terminate the relationship.
And we did.
I sometimes fantasize about firing my friends. Because, when your friends say
they would "love to sit!" for you one Saturday night so you can go
out to dinner, there is no such contract. There is only good
will and a level of commitment you can only determine when the friend either
does or does not show up on time and you do or do not miss the movie you'd
been looking forward to all week. It's nice when it happens, sure, but
you can't count on it.
We have friends whose mothers and fathers and brothers and I can count on my nanny more than the relatives who love my daughter more than life itself.sisters promised round-the-clock
babysitting for the first year, two-days-a-week, three-days-a-week, weekend babysitting,
the occasional evening. I have a friend who missed weeks of work because a mother-in-law
promised to help out full-time, and then changed her mind right before the mother's
due date. Another friend of ours went to drop her six-month-old son off at her
friends' apartment after they'd cooed and promised to watch him so
she could go to the theater. They said to drop him off at 6:45. She arrived on
time to find nobody home, then sat in their stairwell with the baby until 7:30.
When she got them on the phone, they cheerily said they were "running late, but
on their way!" They finally got there, but she cried the whole way out
to the theater, where she arrived late and depressed.
We have a new nanny now, who we love. She's responsible, funny, bright
and patient — all those buzzwords in the Craigslist ad were true. I respect
her because she knows what she's doing. I like her because she literally
sings and dances with our daughter. I trust her because she's got more
experience taking care of children than I do. I adore her because, when our nanny
opens the door in the morning, my daughter barks, "Bye-bye!" to me,
like she can't wait to see me go to work.
But I love my nanny because I pay her, which I've learned means I can count
on her more than the relatives who love my daughter more than life itself. Aside
from the rare doctor's appointment or sick day, she's here every
day. And that's not because she loves my daughter so very much, or because
she wants to give us a hand, but because this is her job, she's a responsible
person, and she needs the money. She's not doing us a favor, she's
providing a very valuable service — and we compensate her for it. As new
parents, we've learned that, when it comes to childcare, money
is
a
more
powerful
incentive
than love.
©2007 Logan Hill and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Logan Hill is a contributing editor at New York magazine. |
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