Part-time Poppins

A Baby in Motion Tends to Stay in Motion

Catherine crawled today for the first time.  She lifted her cherubic head
off the floor, knotted her fists and propelled herself forward with her
right leg.  Near-perfection.  She began her next "step" forward before
gently, as though underwater, yielding to gravity.  I emitted an astonished
yelp and Catherine flinched.  That was the first--and last--time that she
looked back.  Seeing my huge grin, she broke into one of her
characteristically good-natured laughs.

After those first tenuous movements forward, there really was no more
looking back.  Any attempt to retrieve her resulted in eruptions of gleeful
laughter, followed by crawls that devoured the carpet with unbelievable
speed.  To provide her brothers with enough advance warning, I'd quietly hum
the "Jaws" theme song to announce her approach.  The humming grew louder and
louder as she descended upon sacred Pokemon cards, a painstakingly
constructed Lego gun or a Nintendo Game Boy.  Nothing in her path was safe.

Catherine's "move" to mobility was no small event.  Crawling was an
important developmental step--as well as a much-anticipated occasion.  And
the person for whom she'd done it first?  Her mother.

It was appropriate that Catherine had first crawled for her mother, and
secondly in the presence of her excited older brothers and myself, her new
nanny.  Transitioning from a managerial position to a nurturing position was
as big of a step, but it had its catalyst, just like Catherine's crawl did:
she was seeking out an elusive green Lego.

A Catalyst Named Travis.

Ten months prior, almost to the day, I'd caught myself staring at one of my
customer's children.  I could feel the grin affixed to my mouth and
sheepishly went back to work.  Travis (with whom I would later be acquainted
with as "Twaviss"), however, had seen my longing look and ever-so-slowly
meandered into my office.  I continued working, painfully aware of the
end-of-business deadline looming over my head.  There were only three hours
left in my work day.

Travis continued staring at me.  I could feel his gaze, expectant and
silent.

I glanced over at him quickly, took in the big brown eyes, tousled hair and
unmistakable chocolate-cheek smears.  I glanced back to my computer screen.
And then back to Travis.  Travis laughed at my eye antics.  I'd been found
out.

"Heh-whoa," he said, in his best attempt at greeting me.  I smiled without
meeting his gaze again, allowing him to continue.  "What's youw name?"

My furiously-fast typing hands stopped momentarily, falling to my lap as I
swiveled my chair around.  Noticing that Travis was trying to stand taller
because my chair height placed me well above his line of vision, I lowered
my chair as far as it would go.

"My name is Tracy," I said with a smile.  Travis' eyes lit up and he stepped
forward.

"Twacy?"  he repeated, slowly and quietly.  The walls of my office slowly
began melting away as I focused on Travis.  And somewhere, between the
looming deadlines and the rigors of a managerial position, I had a moment of
clarity.  Children have an uncanny ability to shed light in such a way.

"Hey," Travis continued, "Do you get Pokemon on this computo?"

Having temporarily bypassed his introduction, he slid between my chair and
the desktop, rested his elbows on the desk and looked at me imploringly.  I
glanced around the corner, wondering how he'd managed to get into my office
sans parents, and then I glanced at my computer clock: 2:57. Three hours to
finish an eloquent response to the Attorney General.  Travis was still
staring at me, waiting for a response.

"Well, I think that it does," I admitted.  Travis smiled and cradled the
computer mouse in his little palm.

"And...you can GET Pokemon wight now, wight?"  I laughed.  Travis' speech
was so similar to my little brother's at that age: light, right, white; they
were all the same.

"Yes," I admitted again, not realizing that I was consenting not to the use
of my computer, but to a special friendship with a computer-savvy
four-year-old.  "Alright," I said as I typed P-O-K-E-M-O-N into the search
engine.  "Let's see what we get, okay?"  I should've been typing in
"Catalyst," or even "Epiphany," into that search engine, but sometimes
catalysts work virtually unnoticed until they manifest themselves like bulbs
planted several seasons before.

Headers, Footers and Fulcrums

When my bulbs finally bloomed, fertilized by Travis' company, it wasn't
difficult to choose between compassion and customer service or nurturing and
negotiation.  Preferring the company of children to the company of
disgruntled customers, I registered at a local Nanny agency.  The agency
lead me through the appropriate steps, including personality testing,
parenting profiles and "matching" my profile to a family's profile.  The end
result?  I left my cozy private office, desk, personal computer, phone line
and professional clientele for three people who have become very important
to me: Justin, six-and-a-half years old; Zachary, four-and-a-half years old;
and Catherine, who was nine months old when I began nannying for their
parents, James and Colleen, full time.

Being a nanny is a unique role.  I'm not mother, nor father, nor sister; nor
am I an uninvolved person who "clocks out" at five p.m. without another
thought about the children.  I see myself as an extension to their family:
someone who cares for each of them, individually, and together, and a person
who is fortunate enough to see them learn and grow.  As a nanny, I feel
peace in my heart whenever I'm near them and I share in their joys and
sorrows.  And as I get to know each of them better and see what brings light
to their eyes, I remember the surprise birthday party that they'd thrown for
me.  Zachary and Justin had ambushed me with a cake precariously taken out
of the pantry; each adult present feared for the cake's untimely demise.
The cake made its way to our stomachs, though, and the words on my birthday
present plaque made their way to my heart:

"A hundred years from now...it will not matter how much money you had, the
sort of house you lived in or the kind of car you drove, but the world may
be different because you were important in the life of a CHILD."

My personal proverb.

I don't hold this position lightly, but with the understanding that I am

entrusted in their care and responsible for their safety and well-being.  I
see myself as a fulcrum for their conflict: one who decreases the resistance
between the two "lifters;" one who acts as the pivotal in-between point
between that conflict and its resolution.  Vocabulary words like "headers"
and "footers" have changed from typed notes on memorandums to "falls
consisting of the head shortly followed by the rest of the body" and "things
one puts on one's feet, including, but not limited to, tape, toys, socks and
shoes," respectively.

Changing from a position as a manager to a nanny doesn't hold the title that
I once valued, but the richness of these children will continuously fill my
life with joy as I delve into the world of being a full-time nanny...and a
Part-time Poppins.