The Pros, Cons, and Laughy-Bits Of Being A Nanny

A friend recently asked me if I thought she would be a good fit for a nannying position, and whether I liked mine. The short answer to both questions is "yes," but before advising someone into a career that requires consistency, high-energy, loads of creativity, and much responsibility (you're dealing with someone's kids, not insurance policies, groceries, someone's double-shot-latte-extra-hot, car repairs, or shoe size), I gave her some general advice about what worked so well with my job: my current boss interviewed me in person, then sent me a 30-question interview to fill out at leisure with some rather deep questions. At first, I worried she might be super type-A, high-maintenance, and a pain to work for. Then I remembered that the friend I got the reference from would have brooked nothing of the sort and had loved the job. My fears mostly eased, I filled out those questions, sent them in, and have been happily working with Sharon for the last nine months. She's the most wonderful, inspiring boss I could ask to work for. She loves her kids fiercely and is a clear communicator. What I had originally perceived as control-freak actually was a healthy-minded person laying out clear expectations so that neither of us got to the ninth month and looked back with dissatisfaction. I love my job. I won't say it's for everyone. A less-skilled person my age in my field of nanny-teacher-chief-cook-and-bottle-washer might find it overwhelming. I am pooped by the end of a work week and ready for my days off, but it is incredibly rewarding.

And every position is different. If you are looking at applying for what one person calls a "nanny," you might really be in for well-paid babysitting. In the case of another good friend, she's half chauffeur, half play-mate, with a dash of housekeeper thrown in. Just as each family is different, each job will have different requirements, expectations, and situations. And these things will change depending on the age and number of kids in the family. So I'm afraid I can't advise anyone straight out that they would definitely be a good fit for that nanny job. I'd have to know a whole lot more about the given situation than I do. There are, however, a number of truths universally acknowledged by The Surrogate Mother Trade (nannies). In an effort to humorously advise other people thinking of applying for a nannying position, I've drawn up a list of pros and cons to be considered:

Your name either comes up in one long string of Not-Listening ("Miss Rachel. Miss Rachel? Miss RACHEL. MissRachelMissRachelMissRachelllllllll?") or not at all ( "Miss Daddy,""Miss Mommy," "Miss Nammaw," and a great many other names that are variations on the theme).
Your body is not your own. Or at least, I have to work super hard to make it so. They're kids. They are going to poke and prode you multiple times a day and block up doorways to make it nearly impossible for you to go through. I'm accustomed to a certain level of it with my younger siblings and am slowly coaching Lila and Sophy out of it. But really, they're going to pile into your lap during book-time and flop on your back and thighs and arms and ankles when you're anywhere close to the vicinity of the floor. your knees will develop spots from constant kneeling at toddler-level to play games and "do it again." They're also going to share their sneezes, yawns, coughs, toots, and whatever else with you. Welcome to a taste of motherhood.
Just because you have no "moves" does not mean you get out of dance parties. Seriously. When the three year old can break it down and shake it off better than you can at twenty-two, you might have serious thoughts about quitting. Sorry. The whole fun of a dance-party is to show off your prowess to the adult and have the adult show off their ridiculousness to you. I've got the ridiculousness down.
There's no filter on the opinions. "Miss Rachel, I'm really thinking that looks like a lamb." (referencing an Arctic fox I drew.) "That definitely looks more like a turtle. That looks like a lung." (Couldn't she see my elaborate pancake-batter babydoll and breaching orca?)
The parents will show up at the most awkward (for you) moments. Burned the toast? The father will appear and jovially comment on the house smelling of burnt popcorn. Child (unbeknownst to you) has transgressed, will confess first opportunity in front of mother: "I been doin' bad sings, Mommy." Spent the last half-hour with a leaf-mustache pretending to be an Italian named Fernando and chasing the girls? A parent will come out the back door to relieve you of duty just as you scream and dodge out from behind a bush.
Their particular phrases will start popping up in your speech.
"Lila, get your elbow out of my booby or get off my lap."
"I'm just takin' an eye on Sophy."
"Does anyone need to go potty before we head outside?"
"That's my booty, not yours, so stop slapping it. Slap your own booty all day if you want, but leave mine alone."
"Sophy, is your attitude having issues...?"
Doesn't matter how much you despise sports, you will be playing soccer, basketball, football (or all three) daily. I've played more sports in the past nine months than I have in my entire life, I feel. I'm actually a really good kicker, for a kindergarten-team.
You have no privacy. Really. It's your job to teach your wards that the bathroom door stays closed, preferably until the person exits or at least till you hear the sink running. Be specific. It's not water running that gives you permission to fling the doors open. It's the sink. There's a shocking difference. This is a trial-and-error lesson that seems to take eons for children to learn. Prepare to be embarrassed.

So far the rough parts. But then you have the particular joys that makes those drawbacks perfectly worth every moment. These include such things as...

You get to share in every new thing these kids learn. "Can I give you an eskimo sugars, Miss Rachel? Dey don't kiss like diss (lips puckered) because your lips would sweeze. So dey scrub noses." - or - "Hey, Miss Rachel. I drew an arrow from the killer whale to the polar bear because they eat polar bears, right?" (This kid figured out the food chain on her own. So smart.)
You get to be there for so many "firsts. At lunch today, I put a purple Hershey's kiss on Sophy's plate. She stared at it. "What is it?"
What is it? The blessed child had never had a Hershey's kiss--didn't recognize it as something even edible. I took it in hand, thinking of how her life would never be the same again, and pulled the little paper tab, unraveled the shining wrapper, and exposed the chocolate inside. Her eyes were so round and serious as she saw the explanation behind this sorcery. "Ohhhhh, Miss Rachel."
Your favorites become their favorites. I think I've single-handedly converted my girls to eating dill pickles, eating kiwi skins, dancing to the new Annie soundtrack, using expressions such as "You never can tell with bees," and "What you talkin' about, Willis?", using "divine" to describe food, reading chapter-books, singing certain book-songs in certain tunes, asking for the lipstick du jour swiped on their lips and then kissed on their hand first thing upon coming into the house.
They are always on your side. The same kiddo who beat your tail in Uno eight games in a row is thrilled to see you win one measly round with a luck Draw-Four. The one you just had to discipline will fling chubby arms around your neck and say perfectly seriously, "Miss Rachel, do you yuv me?" and then claim your lap for every book afterward. The girl who will probably grow up to be a brain surgeon or botanist listens to your explanation of an analog clock, then pensively turns back to you. "Miss Rachel, you are smart."
Everything you do and say becomes the law of the Medes and the Persians. Things you frequently tell them today will resurface when they are sixty-five. Watch them correct you when they notice the slightest bit of variance from the Way You Told It First and insistence that the way you do anything is always the best way. You might regret having started such a high-energy tradition, but you can't help but love their loyalty. So many traditions...the "pause" button. The "party" button. The "When Flushing" sign. The You-Must-Sing-To-Me-Before-I-Tell-You-A-Story deal. The "talk for that animal" game. Sticking my tongue out while cutting an onion so my mascara won't run. The movie quotes that pop up every time they say a certain phrase ("Forget about it. Big guy says move 'em, we move 'em.").
You have a chance to set a number of things straight: Pluto is a planet. The middle finger has a terribly important job: to snuggle next to your palm and keep it warm. The only version of Winnie-the-Pooh books that matter is the original text.
You have the benefit of a youthful perspective. It's a well-known fact: having children in your life keeps you young at heart. Surrounded daily by such innocence, peace, and cheerful naivete, the world seems half as scary as I've learned it to be. In their eyes, life is an adventure, everything is possible, and small kindnesses matter. It's a precious thing to have access to.