We hired a nanny this weekend. She seems like a wonderful lady — upbeat, energetic, affectionate, and smart. She has all of the qualities and experience we were looking for and, best of all, Oliver and the kitties took to her right away. To quote Mary Poppins, she seems practically perfect in every way.
Relief would have been the rational response to securing such a seemingly wonderful caretaker for Oliver, and yet before the ink had dried on the contract, I was in the nursery clutching a very confused Oliver to my chest and crying; as the final hurdle to my return to work was cleared away, the reality of my dwindling maternity leave hit me like a brick wall.
The past five months have been exhausting to an almost inhumane degree, and yet they have also been the greatest five months of my life. Once a bottomless (yet adorable) pit of need, Oliver has grown into a fully interactive, smiling, babbling, laughing bundle of love; I feel blessed to have been able to witness this transformation take place, little by little, day by exhausting day. I feel immeasurably proud of myself for earning the love and trust I now see reflected in my little man’s bright brown eyes.
Although my heart literally aches every time I think of no longer spending my days watching Oliver learn and grow or, worse, of those beautiful eyes looking adoringly at someone else, I know that going back to work (or, at least trying to go back to work) is the right decision for me and, more importantly, for our family.
If only knowing that something was right had the power to make it easy.