Baby

   I nanny a baby girl who is currently 8 weeks old. Before that I nannied twin baby girls from age 2 months to 18 months. Through babysitting and being the oldest in my family, I've had a long experience of caring for little ones.


I get to the house at 9:00 am. I talk to the baby's mother, my friend, as she gathers her things to leave for work. I take the baby and wave her tiny hand goodbye as her mother heads out the door. I feed the baby, burp her, and change her diaper. I play with her on the floor. I dangle bright toys in front of her, identifying them: "Duck. The duck says 'quack quack'! Frog. The frog hops and says 'ribbit ribbit'!" I sit on the floor beside her, just us and the array of toys. If she is happy for a long time - cooing and kicking and looking around - I lay on the floor beside her. I sing to her. I read her a book. I do planks. I touch my toes. I sing another song. I check to make sure a bottle is ready in the fridge for when she gets hungry. When the washing machine beeps I take her laundry and put it in the dryer, but first I have to move the load in the dryer into a basket. The mom forgot about the laundry already in the dryer. The load consists of her and her husband's clothes. Even though both parents are friends of mine it is an odd thing to handle someone else's underwear. It's not the first time I've pulled someone's husband's underwear out of the washer or dryer - helping out in a small way - yet every time it feels a little too personal, and I roll the intimates into a shirt.

 I lay the baby on her stomach for tummy time, which she dislikes. When she cries I pick her up and soothe her. I feed her again. I lay her on my shoulder to burp her. She lays her head against me. I lean my check against her soft, downy head. Our chests rise and fall against each other, her quick breath against my deep one. Her tiny heart flutters, so frail and strong both at once. A miracle. It's a lovely moment, yet the thought comes to me that maybe this moment should make me sad. That maybe holding and caring for this precious baby who is not mine but whose parents are my age should make me sad. Maybe someday it will, but for now I examine the thought and conclude that the feeling does not live inside me at this time. I know that this baby is loved by her parents in measures she cannot fathom. I know how they prepared and waited and longed for the day when they would meet her. I see her mother hold her and see the wonder on her face as she holds this being who grew inside of her. I glimpse the fullness of life she feels at seeing the beautiful, intricate life that came from her and grew in her. Maybe someday I too will have that fullness, but for now it is alright that I do not. I can examine it in others and be happy for them without being sad for myself. It's not the right time and that is okay. I am thankful that I am not sad. I kiss the baby's soft forehead and let her hand wrap around my finger. I lean back against the couch at a funny angle so that she can lay against my chest as her eyes sleepily close. I know that I should lay her down in her bed so that she doesn't get spoiled with sleeping while being held but I stay as I am for just a moment, just a few more minutes, just to stay in that peaceful time when she is sleeping in my arms and on my heart. Finally I stand up and carefully lay her down and of course she wakes up, tiny eyelids fluttering and arms suddenly flailing and her pink mouth opening wide in a yawn. Her eyes focus and find me and I smile and say, "Hello beautiful. You're awake." She looks at me as though she is trying to decide whether to cry or not. So I hold her kicking feet in my hands and sing her a song and pick her up again when she doesn't go back to sleep. I think again about how loved she is, and of what a privilege it is to be trusted to care for her when her parents are gone. While they go to work they ask me into their home and entrust me with their most precious belonging, their baby. I feel the honor and weight and beauty of that trust. I love this baby but when her mother comes home and I hand her over and prepare to leave it is alright. Someday maybe I'll be the mother coming home and gathering her baby in her arms but for now I say goodbye and go my own way and it is alright. It is all alright.