I will be relieved when the whole nanny saga is over. I have only my own neurosis to blame. Still, I could do without the sleepless nights, the clenching irritation, the frantic guilt. She is working for me, after all, so why do I let myself feel accused, bullied? We are not suited to each other. Ending it is the least cowardly course of action I can think of.
Of course, finding another nanny is a different story. It’ll work out, one way or another, because it must. Because I’ll see to it that it does.
Her head feels hot on my arm. I keep thinking fever, but I suspect it’s my own fuzziness that I’m detecting. She is not so small anymore. A thick, heavy thing who seems wiser than she can physically be.
The one nanny turned us down. We are meeting the other this afternoon. Everything feels so personal these days. I even felt rejected by the preschool that didn’t have room for us. Absurd. I need to get out of my head.
I knew writing wouldn’t make it better. But then I wasn’t expecting it to. I’m writing to remember, not to expiate. So carry on, mule, carry on.