It took me 15 months before I found somebody other than Alby’s
grandparents or odd-ma to take care of him.
Up until then, with the exception of one hen party and two weddings, all
other Alby minding had focused on childcare whilst I was at work. Unbeknownst to my pre-baby self finding a
local babysitter presented a huge challenge to me, one that involved hours of
internal discussion and soul searching.
It took two fairly powerful forces to clash before I was
able to take the plunge – an immovable work event taking place one Saturday
presenting an ever closer deadline and my guilt / responsibility fueled
inability to ask the grandparents to once again stop their lives and drive to Yorkshire.
As it turns out, getting Shannon
to give up her Saturday to spend 10 hours with Alby was no trouble at all. A quick, nervous enquiry to the head of Alby’s
nursery led me into the Baby Room and five minutes later the deal was done. Shannon cared for Alby every day during the week at that
time, has childcare and first aid qualifications, charged a reasonable rate and
was more than happy to spend yet more time with Trouble Monkey. What’s more,
she loves Percy.
Two months later Shannon
has moved onto pastures new taking up a fantastic job opportunity, but not
before setting me up with her best friend who also works in the nursery. Whilst Natasha wasn’t in the same room as
Alby, she often rotated rooms and so was familiar with my little bundle of
craziness as was he with her. Again, I
cannot stress enough how wonderful it was leaving Alby with a professional
child carer. A truth highlighted last
month when we left both Alby and his friend with Natasha, and despite both
children running us ragged all day, she had them asleep in their own beds by
8pm.
Rewind back to last weekend though and it was like the past
five months hadn’t happened at all. In
light of some personal stuff, Natasha is also moving on and with the news I,
somewhat selfishly considering all the mess Natasha has had to deal with, went
into a spiral of panic wondering who in the world I would get to babysit for us
next month. To provide a little bit of
context, next month is the Regiment’s Summer Ball. It’s the biggest party of the year and we
have four friends coming with us. Four
friends who come with two babies. And
so, I’m not just finding somebody to care for Alby but for two of his buddies –
whoever I choose I give my seal of approval too. Natasha recommended a couple of friends of
hers but in light of them not knowing me, not knowing Alby, not having any
childcare qualifications and me being a somewhat crazy lady when it comes to by
first born, I rejected both and instead prattled away to Mark for hours about
why neither was suitable.
And then, like a bolt of lightening a brain wave hit
me. One of Alby’s first carers in the nursery
is, because of work visa issues, having to take a forced sabbatical from the
nursery. Whilst Nelly doesn’t officially
do babysitting, in light of me loving her I took a cheeky gamble and asked the
nursery to pass a message onto her. It
was presumptuous, laced with bribery and overly polite. Happy happy days, my cheek had paid off and Nelly
texted me today to confirm she would do the job. Honestly, I’m deliriously happy. Nelly is a big smiley personality, a miracle
worker with babies and was even clever enough to call my son gorgeous when
confirming her availability.
I know that Nelly helping out on this occasion is no
guarantee that she will help out in future.
And one day we will move from Yorkshire
and the whole thing will start again. Discussing
the whole thing with my mum at the weekend I was struck by how vividly she
remembers the burden of responsibility and guilt that came with finding
babysitters for us. It’s odd I suppose,
cuddling a newborn didn’t make me feel like a parent or anymore grown up than I
was as a teenager, but it’s the little tasks like this which press on you the
responsibilities which come with the little, scrawny, pink, crying bundle they
put in your arms on the delivery ward.
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