Found myself in a position I swore I would never be in: nanny. Just for three hours, just one day a week (the pay is really good). I go back pretty far with this family, keeping an eye on the little boy back at my old job while his Mom took fitness classes. He was/is very sweet–although we’re looming on his second birthday and entering the ‘terrible twos.’ His Mom just had another baby who is four months old and completely content to just sit and watch her brother. She can’t even focus on being fed she’s so focused on tracking her brother. This makes up for all the ‘neglect’ she receives as a second child–the two-year-old commands more attention. Despite this she is a happy and loving baby girl.

Last week the little boy and I spent a whole hour putting his stuffed animals in time out. They languished on the stairs, hidden by the baby gate, until brought out of their respective punishments and released back into the real world. “Why is the zebra going into time out?” I would ask. “For hitting Mara,” the boy replied solemnly. “Oh dear, that’s no good,” I said and off we’d go, zebra in hand, ready to put him back on the stairs. Hitting is a new discovery for this little boy, and his punishment is to sit on the staircase for two minutes. I think it’s interesting he’s processing this new development by executing the same discipline on his stuffed animals.

The baby can’t be fed unless her brother is distracted. The best distraction, admittedly, is 1/2 hour of Dora the Explorer. While the little boy watches TV the baby is fed. Simple, right? Not if Tivo decides not to work and the baby is screaming because she just woke up hungry and the little boy is losing patience and the Mom on the phone can’t give me the right instructions to get Dora to come on. It’s a disaster. While struggling with the TV I check on the little boy: I find my clogs in the kitchen sink with him about to turn the water on. “No, no, I don’t need my shoes washed,” I dump a handful of plastic cups and rubber dog toys in the sink for him to scrub. I give up on Dora. With the baby facing the opposite way I stuff a bottle in her mouth while eying her older brother–he has discovered the sponge excretes an enormous amount of water on the floor. “Not on the floor,” I bark. “Keep the sponge over the sink.” He only tries it a few more times before the message is received.

The baby is furious with me because I put her down to figure out Tivo and then put her down again to warm up her bottle. She cried huge crocodile tears, her face was bright red, and I could practically see her little heart breaking. She emitted little protest cries throughout her feeding but eventually forgave me. While I monitored the kitchen sink play, the baby watched eagerly from her swing. The mechanical device swings back and forth while playing tinny music. The baby is happy. The little boy is drenched from head to toe and is happy. The baby ‘blows out’ her diaper just when Mom shows up. I completely forgot about the diaper (kids usually poop while sleeping, right? Isn’t the first thing you do after a nap is check their diaper?). I barely figure out how to get the baby’s shirt over her head; luckily she’s still smiling. She’s thrilled to have such one-on-one attention from her baby-sitter. She coos and laughs at me with her little fingers. Wow.

The little boy is tired. He’s mad because I put my clogs on and am ready to go. He cries pitifully while his mother talks with me. We discuss preschool, waiting lists to go to preschool, soccer, the new development of hitting, the guilt she feels over not being able to spend much time with the baby. I’m a good listener, having spent all week with children her son’s age. I see a range of children, I can compare, I can assure her that he’s fine. He’s smart and a good kid despite the new hitting development. Starting preschool at three is fine–two is really young. The baby is learning so much from her brother, it’s ok if the Mom isn’t focused on her 100%. I’m glad to give her a three hour respite in the middle of her week. “It’s all good practice,” I say, for teaching and eventual parenthood. The little boy gives me a mournful wave. His zebra has been removed from time out and is sitting limply next to him. I wave good bye.