Thursday, March 12, 2009

Go to hell thursday.

Let me paint you a little picture. I am at work, minding my own business, enjoying the half and hour I'm going to get today without Baby 1 attacking something, because she's unconscious. Baby 2 is sitting happily in her highchair methodically destroying a rice cake (I'm convinced she likes pulling them apart systematically much more than actually eating them, and I can't blame her.)

So, there I am. Baby 2's aunt, whom I have never met before, is on her way over to take Baby 2 for a walk. Fine. No problem. By my math, that's one less baby. At this point I should mention that I work in two apartments, different ones on different days of the week. Today, I was in Baby 2's apartment, where there is a dog. A dog that I am hereafter going to refer to as "Dumb Dog." Dumb Dog likes to bark loudly when the doorbell rings, and run out of the apartment, down the front stairs of the building, and outside, where she proceeds to frolic in the bushes and refuse to come inside until I find a meaty enough bribe. I am not keen on this situation. Therefore, when I have to answer the front door, I shut the apartment door behind me, so as to avoid that whole mess.

I bet you can see where this is going. Aunt rings doorbell, dog barks, Andrea sighs, gets up, shuts door, welcomes Aunt, reaches apartment door, turns knob...door is locked. Yes, that's right, for the FIRST TIME IN EIGHT MONTHS THE DOOR HANDLE WAS LOCKED. And yes, in case you were wondering, both Baby 1 and Baby 2 were still inside.

Every nanny who's worth her salt KNOWS there's no way this isn't going to happen to her one day. Honestly, I can't believe I've made it two years without doing this at least once. And now I was faced with the truth...I had to call the Worry Mom. Worry Moms are essentially, perfectly nice, normal human beings, who had children and went ballistic. They become so OCD and anal retentive and neurotic I'm surprised they remember to breathe. Under normal circumstances, its the nanny's job both to put up with all of this "OhmygodIhadababy...You're going to BREAK IT" energy without slapping anyone, and comfort and guide Worry Mom through this new baby time. "Its okay Worry Mom, the baby is okay, you're okay, its all okay, put that book down, I don't care what it says, it isn't helping...that one too." So instead of further reaffirming in this woman's mind that I am in fact perfectly capable of caring for her one and only child, I had to call her at work and say "...I locked myself out of the apartment..." To which she says, "Wait...are you telling me my baby is alone in the apartment? Alone?!" "Yes, but she's in the highchair, safe, I can see her through the window, and she's fine." Of course I'm not even sure she was still on the phone by the time I finished that sentence, I think she was already outside hailing a cab. What a nightmare. A nightmare that ends with me hearing "Don't forget your keys!" at every juncture for the rest of time.

And when I got home I found a jury duty letter.

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