She started yesterday. 10:00am she arrived as I ran around like mad to neaten and prepare and label everything so that I could leave and not worry. Er… worry less.
She came to the door with kindness and we hugged.
I met her through a family at Archer’s school. She had nannied for their family for years and was looking for a new family – a few extra hours during the week. The timing was perfect as Hal and I had days earlier discussed that it was time to hire someone for part-time help so I could write for ten hours a week stress-free, pursuing the scripts I started last year and wanted to finish before 2019. With Hal back to work we could finally afford it. A huge relief.
I showed her around the house. Introduced her to the dogs and the space, the stroller and what food Fable preferred. I informed her of Fable’s inability to nap longer than twenty-minutes. Her love of which books and toys. Her favorite spoon.
“Fable loves when you sing to her,” I said. “It makes her laugh.”
She immediately started singing. And Fable loosened in my arms and smiled. Her smiles became giggles and before I knew it, the two of them were laughing together like old friends.
I let go. Handed her over.
I wanted to cry. I was so relieved. So happy. So grateful to have found someone so gentle and kind, happy to sing to my baby, someone who could within five minutes of entering our home, make her laugh.
I wrote all day at the coffee shop never once worrying. I didn’t even call. And when I came home? Fable was happy, her face flushed and covered with strawberries.
This morning, was a somewhat different story. I tried to wait for Fable to stop crying before I left.
“Maybe she’ll calm down and start laughing again,” I thought.
But ten minutes later, she was still reaching for me, her eyes following me around the living room, my heart breaking and maybe I should just stay and work out of the house today. Maybe she’s too young to leave. Too attached. Too sensitive…
“It takes time for them to get used to you leaving,” she told me as I packed my laptop bag . “But it’s good for her. It’s good for her to know you’re coming back.”
So I kissed Fable’s tear-stained cheeks and walked out.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to call. I wanted to come home early. But I didn’t. I didn’t cry and I didn’t call and I stayed right up until the end. I stayed and I wrote and I sipped my soy latte.
And when it was time to come? Fable was once again happy, her face flushed and covered with strawberries.
And I had a finished draft of a script.