Stay-at-Apartment Mom

Went to the pool today and happened to see Marion, the mother of the two boys staying here.  (Ha!  I had basically cornered her!)  We chatted for about an hour while our kids played.  She’s moving here from London and staying in the apartment here while house hunting.  I liked her, she was amiable and had a good sense of humor.  Finally, an enjoyable conversation that didn’t just feel like we were exchanging information!  We set up a playdate for Monday.

I have been having a wonderful month so far being a round-the-clock, stay-at-apartment Mom.  This is what I’d envisioned motherhood to be like as I was growing up – I thought you did everything, you cooked, you cleaned, you cared for them, you played with them all day long, and then you bathed them and put them to bed.  But it turns out motherhood is not exactly like this.  Even people without babysitters usually have friends to get together with to pass the time, or family to help out, or kiddy classes to throw them in, or a playroom or backyard to give Mommy breaks from time to time.  Here I have none of the above, so it really has been like the motherhood of my imagination.  In New York, I have the good fortune of having a nanny to help out.  It’s extremely helpful given city living and the logistical challenges we face, but not having grown up with one I’d always felt a little guilt-ridden about it that I wasn't the one caring for my children 24/7.  I had looked forward to the copious quality time with my kids this summer.  I also wanted to share the experience of/watch them experience everything I was bringing them to so didn’t want to allocate it to anyone.  It wasn’t like I was bringing them to the Natural History Museum for the 3,734,528th time here…

However… I have cooking burns on two fingers, a cut on my thumb knuckle from slicing apples, a cut on another finger where Graham cut me with a pair of scissors while “being vewy caweful,” a red mark on the bridge of my nose where I got in the way of Julia’s hula hoop, a large bruise of undetermined origin on my right thigh, fingernails like a gardener’s (minus the dirt), and I’m exhausted.  I’ve been creating their whole universe every single day from scrambled eggs to bedtime stories.  I need a little help from somewhere!

Trouble is my husband and I have always been similarly skittish about using sitters if we don’t have personal recommendations.  I had reached out to several of my Australian contacts here, but no one offered up an actual babysitter (understandably, they all have two to five young kids, they need them themselves).  But something’s gotta give.  So I try one of the agencies that had been highly recommended to me, despite its cheesy name:  Dial-an-Angel.

They’ve been around since 1967, do background checks and reference checks, the sitters are all first-aid certified and need to have been in childcare for at least two years.  They’re also available days, evenings, and last minute.  Sounded perfect, except that they charge $40 an hour, with 3-4 hour minimums.  (Well, that’s not entirely true.  For evenings, the going rate is $39.60/hour, while the daytime rate is $40.70/hour.  How they determined that daytime is worth $1.10 more per hour is a mystery to me!)  Lots of reassurances and benefits, and frankly, after a month without a babysitter, $40 an hour seemed totally reasonable!  Sure, and let me throw in some rare jewels and gold medallions as well!  There are some things in life you just have to be willing to pay up for – birthday dinners, shoes, skilled cardiothoracic surgeons, and by all means, childcare.  So we finally took a chance on them and booked for daytime and evening… and they really were terrific.  Woo hoo!  I’d almost forgotten what it was like to walk around without pushing a stroller in front of me.