Nanny Anxiety  

Looking back at my life choices in 1979, when I was twenty-one, I still can’t believe I pretended to speak French to acquire a nanny position in France. Aside from the obvious fact that this deception was wrong, I didn’t have a lot of experience with childcare, especially infants. The bulk of my knowledge on this subject came from some unexpected sources during my youth, which you will read about below.

Of course, it didn’t help that Madame Dubois, my employer, was a very confident, commanding woman who had very little patience with her young American inmposteur. Here is an excerpt from my memoir, French Illusions, My Story as an American Au Pair in the Loire Valley:  

“The following day, I helped Madame prepare for the arrival of her new baby. With her due date only two weeks away, she wanted to clean and organize the nursery one last time.

             Together we dusted the furniture, vacuumed the rug, set up the mahogany crib, and put the cheerful yellow French toile bedding in place. One by one, I folded dozens of tiny infant outfits in varying sizes and placed them in dresser drawers while Madame Dubois arranged a pile of cloth baby diapers near the changing table.

            “After the baby comes, how long will you stay at the hospital?” I asked, squishing down a pile of clothes.

            “Several days. The doctor will determine when the baby and I are ready to return home.”

            Feelings of insecurity surfaced and my voice quivered, “How soon will I be taking care of the baby after you return home?”

            Madame Dubois paused, glancing my way. “Immediately. I have had an au pair with each of the children, and it was a big help to me.” Then a bit softer, she added, “There is no need to worry. You will be fine with the baby after some practice.”

            I continued to fold and put away the garments, caught up in my own thoughts until I noticed Madame Dubois open a large chest in the corner of the room. Raising the lid, she gently pulled out various items, including baby clothing, stuffed animals, rattles, and such. I didn’t know what she was thinking until she glanced my way.

            “These are keepsakes from Colette and Antoine,” she explained with a sigh. “It seems like only yesterday they were babies—and look at them now.”

            My heart rate increased. This was the first time Madame Dubois let her guard down, and I didn’t want to spoil the moment.

       Without making a sound, I laid down the item in my hand and strolled over to get a better look at her mementos. A delicate white christening gown caught my attention, so I knelt down and lifted it out of the chest.

            “This is lovely. Which of the children wore this?”

            “Both of them.” Her fingers caressed the lace around the collar. “As a matter of fact, I was dressed in this at my own baptism.”

            “That’s wonderful. I wish my mother still had my christening gown.”

            Seconds passed, her eyes focused on the garment. “Yes, well . . . we should get back to work.” She plucked the garment from my hands, placed it in the chest, and closed the lid with a thud. The tender moment ended and Madame Dubois was back in charge.

            While I finished sorting the baby clothes, I thought back to my teenage years when I lived on Whidbey Island, a rural area of Washington State. In this rustic setting, hormone-filled fourteen-year-old girls, with limited choices, often turned to older boys for excitement. Parties with kegs of beer on isolated country roads were commonplace. Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd blasted from car stereos on eight-track cassettes, and the smell of pot filled the air. Often, couples would end up in the woods or in the back seats of cars. Consequently, a few of my close friends became young mothers, and I watched, mesmerized, as their lives unfolded.

            One friend, in particular, kept her pregnancy a secret for many months, until she could no longer hide her expanding belly. After she delivered, I helped her care for the tiny infant, content to pass the baby back when she required special attention. These visits left me torn, longing for a child of my own, but also thankful to have avoided a similar fate. We moved away from Whidbey Island back to Seattle a short while later, but those intense memories stayed with me for a long time. After this, I took the subject of birth control very seriously.”

I would love to hear from my readers and I promise to reply to your comments. If you would like to learn more about my experiences as a nanny in France, you can purchase a copy of my book at Amazon.com. The audiobook is also available at Audible.com. (Photo from https://www.eyeofthedaygdc.com)