That makes my
post-childcare life sound like one big naked party, and it isn't –
after all, I still have to work at my new job to get paid. But
there's nothing like live-in childcare to make you truly appreciate
being in your mid-twenties – even if it's only at the weekends. And occasionally on Tuesdays.
Being an au pair taught me some of the
best – and worst – things, about children and families, about the
relationships between mothers and nannies, about education and child
development, and about myself. The biggest and most important thing I
learned is that I will never take another live-in childcare job again
in my life. I may even move out of my house when I have my own
children. Well, that might be an exaggeration, maybe,
but my 18 months as an au pair for three different families put my
feelings about starting my own family into perspective.
I used to be one of those girls who
would melt at the sight of babies, cooing and fussing over the small
children I saw on the bus or in the supermarket. I have one other
friend who is like this, and she once said her uterus would ache at
the sight of a baby – that's what I felt once, too. The uterine ache of
longing for babies.
Then I started getting paid to look
after children.
As much as I love children, I never
planned to go into childcare after college – it was close to last
on my list of post-graduate jobs I would be willing to take – but
after moving back to the UK from the States and discovering that care
jobs were the only ones available in abundance, my choices were
narrowed down to one question: old people or children?
I chose childcare because I thought I'd
be good at it – or at least, better than I knew I'd be in
eldercare. I'm ashamed to admit that old people who need care –
especially personal care – gross me out and frankly scare me. I met
plently of eldercare workers who said the same of children, so I
guess they're in the right job, and that's what I was afraid of the
most. I didn't want to be in a job looking after old people when I
knew I'd be the wrong person for the job. They didn't deserve to have
me looking after them.
I quickly learned that I wasn't exactly
the right person for childcare, either.
My first 'job' as an au pair was in
Wales, living with a close family friend, someone I've known since I
was nine years and have always considered a big sister to me. When
I moved back to the UK, I needed a place to live, and Lucie needed some
help with the kids and the house. We were eager to reconnect and
grateful that we were able to help each other out; we both felt like
we were each getting the better end of the deal, me room and board
plus as much pocket money as she could afford to pay me, her a
clean(er) house and childcare that allowed her to establish and
develop her new business as a grower of fresh produce and herbs as
well as herbal bodycare products.
 |
| Another upside? Buying birthday / Christmas / baby shower gifts are a snap! |
Looking after her two children didn't
feel much like a job, but it was definitely hard work. Thankfully,
their mother and I, despite seven years without seeing each other and
rarely writing, seemed to have near-identical childcare philosophies.
Food and nutrition, playtime, schooling, discipline: whatever was
happening, we gave the children consistent messages, which I didn't
know at the time was a rare and precious thing. When the children
were with their fathers, or away at sleepovers, we would get all the
mums together and go out dancing, or stay in and cook delicious meals
that were uninterrupted by children, and these women became my
friends, my support system. Having to move back to the UK, away from
my mom and my college friends, could get lonely sometimes, but they
were always there for me. I felt completely at home with them, and
loved all their children too. We were one big happy [crazy] family.
 |
| Lucie and me on a to-scale bouncy Stonehenge. The kids complained about it being too wet. We had a blast. |
My next two jobs were far from Wales,
with families I didn't know, and I'm not sure whether I truly had
less personal space during my time with these families or if I was
simply more aware of the fact my space was being invaded by strangers
instead of people I considered my family. I was still lonely, more so
than when I'd first moved, but I was never alone. Close by there was
always the noise, and the needs, of others.
To cut a long story short – though
I've got plenty of stories from those families that I'm sure I'll
share in other blog posts – my third au pair job ended abruptly in
May just as I was being approached by someone from the Mozilla
Foundation to work on their Open Badges team, and I was suddenly back
in Wales, looking at potential apartments online, and getting set up
with my new position at Mozilla. Within two months, I had a new
laptop, I'd been flown back to Maine for the team retreat, and my
bank account was in shock, having reached a figure it hadn't seen
since I was in high school.
This summer has been one of transition.
I try to use “transition” instead of “limbo” to describe my
life, because being in limbo feels static, and out of my control.
Transition means change, and I like change. It's been a long summer,
with many steps forward and almost as many steps back – but I saw
somewhere that optimism is seeing one step forward and one step back
as a cha-cha. I like that.
On Monday, I'm supposed to be moving
into my new apartment – which, after weeks of delays and staying
with friends and in hotels, has been a long time coming. I will have
my grown-up job, my all-to-myself apartment, and my friends will be
living nearby. Bring out the wine and turn up the music, for I will
no longer be in transition, no longer in limbo.
I will be on my own, but I won't be
lonely. I'll be dancing.
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