It takes a village, or at least a nanny

Randi Kreiss

When we walked into the park, my grandson made the introductions. Only 2 years old, he’s on a first-name basis with all the VIPs on the scene. The VIPs are the nannies, of course, and he got big hugs from each of them, since they all freelance as baby-sitters, and most have fed him, bathed him and rocked him to sleep at one time or another.
“Hi, Elijah,” the beautiful blond Russian woman cooed.
“How about a kiss for Mimi?” the Romanian nanny said. The park was packed with kids and nannies — a regular United Nations of child caregivers. I may have been the only one there who was actually related to a little kid. What I observed was mostly women tending to kids, pushing them on the swings, offering snacks, wiping noses and changing diapers. Overall, the care was excellent and affectionate, with some exceptions, of course. Some of the nannies were on cell phones or engrossed in their own conversations.
Welcome to the world of child rearing, 2009. Both my daughter and her husband and my son and his wife work full time. Both employ nannies who work five days a week, 8 to 6. Observing the dynamic between parents and nannies and nannies and children has been fascinating these past few years, since my grandkids were born. My mother was a full-time mom, and I was the “bridge” generation. I worked part time, but only when my kids were in school or later, when they got old enough to become latch-key kids. We did not employ nannies.
My children’s nannies are gems. These women are grownups, experienced and professional. They make very good money.
Initially, my bias was against the nanny experience. I subscribed to the usual arguments. Children need their parents when they’re very young. No one can do as good a job as Mom or Dad. I spent 24/7 with my children, and I’ve always believed their sense of security and confidence came from those years of mommy-care.
Now I’m not so sure.