Calling the Nanny

For a brief time last year I worked with a man who had managed to go two and half
years without ever bathing either of his twins or changing a diaper. If the nanny was off, his wife took over. He was spared the down and dirty work of child rearing. In fact, from what it sounded like, he was spared most of the things related to child rearing including the fun parts. He spent a little time each day with his children just to say he had.

Then one night the nanny was on vacation and his wife, having spent a full-day of mothering on her own, needed a break. He suddenly had tub duty. And he had diaper duty. And he was beside himself.

One twin peed all over the rug as she gleefully ran away during the diaper change. He couldn't believe a child would do such a thing. The other twin was practically scaling the dresser to reach something placed high upon the shelf. The man thought this was a special talent developed just by his little ape. He was appalled.

I smiled at him trying not to laugh loudly when he told me the story. "Jack," I said (although I used his real name at the time), "I have absolutely no sympathy for you. Welcome to parenthood."

This morning, however, I find myself wishing I had his number. I'd love to call him and see if he'd be a charitable soul - charitable enough to lend out his nanny for the day.

Bruce is working and sick - the man does not handle sick well, for what it's worth. My mom has whatever it is that is making the rounds, plus she's visiting the now semi-comatose uncle and shuttling my dad to a routine "so-you're-over-50" medical test. There is no relief pitcher to come into the game today.

The kids? One is getting over whatever it is that has been making the rounds and the other is in the middle of it. We may head back to the doctor today to see if she needs a little thick, pink, liquid help in battling the snot monster that has consumed her face and the cough that rattles her 23 pound body.

Me? Well the truck that Bruce says ran him down is now parked squarely in the center of my chest. The voice that yesterday would have been the envy of some 900-number operators is now nearly non-existant. It's going to be a long day. I am off to swallow a few cold pills and hope they don't knock me on my butt.

Send the Nanny if you see her.