Nanniversary

Last week was the one year anniversary of my nanny's first day with us. Surprisingly, Hallmark does not make a "Thanks for all the times you wiped my kid's ass" card for this type of occasion.

Twelve months ago, Muffin was still a non-mobile, (relatively) wee thing. I was playing the part of a woman going back to work. Although I went through all the motions, I felt sure I was going to wuss out at the last moment. Having a nanny in theory felt fine. Having a nanny in reality just felt too fancy, too middle-aged, too high-powered career woman.

We only interviewed three candidates; Sally won us over by teaching us how to use a rectal thermometer during her interview. She came a few times while I was still on maternity leave, and I went out for short jaunts alone to get used to the idea that someone else could take care of my little girl without breaking her. Sally and Muffin did just fine, and I even returned to fluffed pillows and an empty dishwasher. I began to picture myself back at work.

On my first day back at work, I left early and let my husband do the hand-over. It felt easier to pretend I was leaving her with her parent, not a nanny. And I didn't want raccoon eyes on my first day back. The Canuck took a photo of Sally holding Muffin and e-mailed it to me at work. It was actually a horribly uncute photo of Muffin, but still I got his point; she was cared for and everything would be ok. We were welcoming someone new and wonderful into her world.

A year later, I do the morning hand-off with no mascara issues. Muffin speed-crawls to the door to greet Sally each morning, and they chat and sing songs over chana Sally brings from home. Muffin has playdates at houses I've never been to. Moms and caregivers I don't know approach me on the playground to say hi to my daughter and she smiles with recognition. I can't help but feel left out sometimes, but I'm glad they have a busy, happy social life together.

Every time I complain about Sally, it smacks of It's just so hard to find good help these days attitude that I want to smack myself. Yet there are headaches. Oh, there are headaches. When Muffin has a grouchy day, Sally doesn't hesitate to point the finger at me. Just yesterday she told me that Muffin was tantrum-y all day because I had had a sitter the night before. She got into a shouting match with another caregiver in the building for reasons I still don't understand. She told me at Christmas that she expected a week's extra pay for a bonus. I was planning to give it to her anyway, but her asking for it made me squirm. Despite getting more paid vacation than I do, she nickel and dimes us for days off. She once called in sick because of cramps. There are days when she phones me at work to vent about tantrums or poop explosions, and I think, Mary Poppins would suck it up. But I try to remember that 10 hours a day with a toddler is very tough work, and if I were home, I'd have the Canuck on speed dial.

I know so much more than I did a year ago, and if I could go back and do it differently, I just might choose someone more zen and go-with-the-flow. But for better or for worse, Sally is ours now. When I came home last night, she met me at the elevator to tell me that Muffin had taken her first step. I think she was as thrilled as I was. Sally's far from perfect, but then neither am I. I do know she loves Muffin, and Muffin loves her. Our little symbiotic relationship hangs together, sometimes only by a thread, but hangs together nonetheless.