I have been a nanny since graduating from college in 2015. At first I expected it to be temporary, and when I realized that was not the case, I felt insecure. I knew I loved my job, but I could also perceive that other people expected me to move on. People wanted nannying to be a stepping stone to something greater. “Do you want to be a teacher?” “What did you major in?” It always seemed to come from a positive place – they wanted more for me. I love my job to the extent that it does not feel like work. I am exceptionally lucky. What more is there to want?
I have largely let go of my insecurity around my job. One of the most reassuring pieces of advice I got came from Ellen – the sitcom starring Ellen DeGeneres from the 1990s. If you have not seen it, please carve out some time in your days. It is silly and broad yet real and comforting, not to mention historic. There was one quote that almost instantly alleviated my fear and internal struggles around my work.
“If you wake up every morning and you like where you go and who you see there, then maybe you’ve found your dream.” Ellen, Season 3 Episode 2
Perhaps my work is unconventional. But it sounds like I have found my dream.
This became abundantly clear last week.
I have been working for two different families for the last almost two years, which means I get to enjoy a wide age-range. Currently the kids are 11 (though he will be 12 in a couple weeks!), 9, 5, and approaching 2. And that precious little toddler has a brand new baby sister whom I cannot meet. When I got the news that she finally came, I could not stop crying. I was so happy for her family and so excruciatingly sad for myself.
Since August, I have daydreamed about this little baby. I have imagined being there from the very beginning; to love her and hold her and to support her family through the transition from one little girl to two. It might sound dramatic to say, but my heart is truly broken that I am missing these earliest days. I do not know when I will get to see her. It is equally heartbreaking that I cannot witness the toddler I have spent so much time with since she was three months old growing up and hitting milestones. Will she remember me when I see her again?
While I recognize that distancing from the family is best for their health and safety right now, it is absolutely the hardest and most painful aspect for me of social distancing.
This pain was still very fresh when I took a yoga nidra class the next night. I often gain insights into my thoughts and emotions during yoga class, which is neither unique to me nor surprising. Sometimes I fidget and analyze and wonder how much time has passed. However, normally I am able to settle in and learn something about myself. I do not always walk away with a major epiphany. It can be as simple as realizing I reacted negatively out of fear or recognizing that my body needs a break.
That night, as our instructor walked us through our guided meditation, I learned something that felt profound. As the doe in the woods gazed into my eyes, I realized: this pain is the burden of my most precious gift: love. In this case it is love for tiny humans that are helpless and trusting.
On the first day of a ceramics class my junior year of college we went around the room saying our names and what we were passionate about. I said babies. No one knew what to do with that. I could not adequately explain. To this day, I have never learned how to explain my passion for babies. I know some people will understand and some people will not relate. My extreme love for babies is a gift, perhaps my most precious gift, but it also means that I will feel pain sometimes.
I cannot wait until I can get back to work with those tiny humans. Meanwhile, the most consistent joy in my life these days is going to my job with the big kids. I think those are both pretty good signs that I am doing the right work.
Two different babies, six years apart, same love.