The Important Question

Before R.J. was born, I was a born career woman. I fully intended to drop a perfectly organized diaper bag off with my perfectly clean child every morning and a perfectly structured daycare.  I wait-listed daycares. I visited with R.J. I put his name on his binkies and his blankies. In ink. We were ready. I was ready. Or, so I thought. He lasted one afternoon at daycare. He melted down. I melted down. I extended my leave. I cried for weeks.

I agonized over hiring a nanny. A stranger taking care of my Baby? Alone in my house? What if she was mean to my Baby? What if she slept all day? Or parked him front of the TV?

And the important question: What if he loved her more than he loved me?

I actually advertised for Mary Poppins (must love children, etc. so forth and so on).

We hired a nanny (actually two). Our first nanny was a delight--young, musically gifted, and full of life. She taught R.J. to love PBS news and how to play a drum. When she moved on to law school to start her own career I cried.

We hired a new nanny. R.J. loves her fiercely.  She is uncommonly sweet in her manner of speech. She is easily the most non-judgmental person I have ever met. She understands the laundry chair. And sticky tile floors. And the mornings when R.J. has wet the bed, the cat has barfed on the rug, and I've overslept. I don't have a sister, but if I did, she is what I would hope for.

She dries R.J.'s tears when he falls down.  He prays before meals, and he's learning his ABC's.  He is a delightful little boy, and I can't take all the credit. I'm happy to share it.

This afternoon I analyzed shareholder agreements and pondered the other important question in my life: where in the world is the signed promissory note?  I heard the ping of my cellphone and found a picture of my Baby cooking in his chef's hat.

So, when my Baby calls me 'Sisa Mama, I smile. I know the answer to the important question: What if he loves his nanny as much as he loves me?

He is loved. And I love that.

(We love you 'Sisa!)