THE NANNY GIG

Growing up, I had heard people, mostly women, talking about biological clocks and how those clocks tick, typically at older ages. No one to my knowledge has ever spoken of a biological clock ticking at the age of 7. The most popular ticking biological clock discussions in my listening and learning experiences have been related to adult women in their late 20s to late 30s, some in their early 40s, wanting children.

In my experience, I did not want children – I craved my own little people. It happened just after I turned 30. I wasn’t expecting it. Paul and I had discussed the likelihood of having children in late 2010. We began to plan for the child-bearing years in our late 20s after we were both established in our careers. We decided to wait another year and then we would see what may happen. What happened? We moved to Singapore.

We turned 30 when we were in Singapore. And then the cravings started.

I can crave chocolate; I can crave burgers. I never in my life expected to crave children – the having of them and them being around, not the eating of them. Just clarifying.

When I was 30 and one month, my whole inner being started craving a little person. I did not desire to be pregnant; I did not want to hold, smell or kiss an infant – I had an urge for a full-on toddler. I started to imagine a little version of Paul or his sister, Alexis. I didn’t really envision a little me person, but I did like the thought of a little Paul or Alexis.

I hid the craving from my husband for a whole month before my women friends made me spill the beans. Nic told me the same thing I told her when she was freaking out about not living in England anymore: “Grow a pair.” I had to tell him.

When I approached Paul one evening, I didn’t just throw out there that I suddenly desired to have his babies like a crazy woman. No, I was beyond crazy. I made the situation as awkward as possible, drawing out the “I have something to tell you” silence well beyond it’s needed, awkward and then unbelievably-awkward length before blurting out something like, “I know you don’t want to hear this and I really can’t help it but something inside me is craving a kid and I’m not saying that I want to actually have one right now but my body is going through something and I just thought you should know.”

I think he laughed at me.

Then he told me something I never expected to hear: that being in Singapore actually worked as an advantage because the hired help was so cheap, so it would make sense to have a baby while we were living in Singapore. Thanks. That was exactly what I wanted to hear in that moment.

Then he explained that he would never feel the same way that I did in that moment – that he would never come to me and say, “Hey there! I want to have your babies. Let’s get started!” Instead, he threw out an analogy.

“When I was a kid,” he began, “my mom wanted me to play baseball. I didn’t know if I wanted to, so she told me to just go to one practice and see what I thought. I went, and I liked it. I played baseball for years.”

I launched at him with arms spread wide.

I threw my right arm in his direction, palm up to the sky. “Baseball…” I said as I then moved forward my left arm, palm shooting to the sky. “Baby.” I replied and began to move the opposing scales up and down. “NOT THE SAME THING, PAUL!” Then I explained that we could not just have a trial run at parenthood, give the baby back and see what we thought of the experience.

Little did I know, we actually could. Isn't God good? He gives us exactly what we ask.

Once upon a time when I was living in Papua New Guinea, my best friend in the whole world called me, semi freaking out about her situation. She had had a baby in January, went back to work in March and in mid-April, she was still without a nanny. Her mother – we all love her – had been staying with my friend for four months after only planning to be away from her home and her husband for one month while my friend and her husband got settled into their new life. While the mother loved her daughter and her first grandchild so, so much, she also loved her husband who was three states away.

After several attempts to find a nanny through local agencies, my friend’s parents decided to relieve her of her stress. They decided to pack up their things and move closer to the grandchild so that they could provide the care that was so desperately needed. The only hitch? They actually needed time to move.

“Their lease ends in June,” I was told, “so now I just need to find someone to fill in for the seven or eight weeks over the summer while they move,” she said more confidently. 

My brain took over my body, and I began speaking my thoughts: spend the summer in America with my friend, take care of a baby, any day outside PNG is a good day….”I will be your nanny! My husband wants to spend a chunk of time in the U.S. and if he does come back here after training, I won’t have to. I should be around for a couple weddings, so if you can work around two family conflicts, count me in. Of course, I need to discuss this with my husband before I commit, and you should definitely take some time to think about my offer, but I am game if you are.”

Paul agreed, not-so-secretly hoping that I would get my baby fix and be done.

For approximately six weeks this summer, I am booked on what I am now calling my trial run. In the next six weeks I will determine whether or not I am cut out to be a mom, whether or not I can care for a child all day every day (well, at least five days a week) and figure out if this kid thing is something that I really want to do for the rest of my life.

I admit that there are times when I do want a child for a million different reasons: producing a product of my husband and myself; seeing a little version of the two of us; learning about the actual meaning of life, not just the perceived meaning; learning how to be a little less selfish. And then I think about the financial requirements, the amount of time and effort it will take to get a child out the door, the teenage years, all adding up to the life-long commitment and suddenly I find myself thinking “maybe not.”

Saturday morning, in old-timey style, I boarded a train with my suitcase, a carry-on and a giant bag of pastries from the famous Carlo’s Bakery and found myself in Nannyland by lunchtime.

Today is day three of my Six-Week Mommy Boot Camp. Day two went better than day one, not that day one went badly at all. I went to bed last night grateful to be back on my own personal schedule (exercising, eating healthy, getting a little bit of personal items accomplished) and having every muscle in my body ache. I was exhausted.

I last night confessed to my friend that I was having a great time and that I was learning a lot, but in that moment, I could not see myself wanting to do this every day for years to come. I also told her that I am curious to see if that mentality changes in the next 44 days. 

A LESSON IN TIMING

“You know, I know that God has it all covered,” Paul began one night a few weeks ago, “but sometimes I just want to do my own thing and see how everything works out.” We had been living in Papua New Guinea for a year and Paul was experiencing a bit of third world frustration unlike any previous freakout.

He is content with his job but our apartment is small and infested with flying termites, small roaches and maintenance men who just walk in whenever they need to check on something. In the third world we are without first world conveniences such as the ability to walk from one address to another, the ability to send and receive mail and the presence of big box stores like Target that seem to have almost anything a person could need for a reasonable price.

Twice annually, Paul gets to return to the United States to attend aircraft training, and his semi-annual trip to New Jersey was quickly approaching. He was scheduled to begin training in June so throughout May he became incredibly antsy as he awaited approval to leave PNG and head back to the U.S. The termites that evening were the last straw.

“Why are you so O.K. with this?!” he shouted. “How can you be so patient and not freak out and tell me that we have to leave? Why are you so amazing? Any other wife out there would have left me by now. Sometimes I wish you would just say, ‘That’s it, I’m out.’ Then at least I could go in and say, ‘Sorry guys, my wife can’t take it anymore.’ ”

After he calmed down a bit, he more calmly started talking about how he trusts that God has our life plans completed for us but, in times like this night, he wishes he would be able to see into the future and realize why we experience certain circumstances.

“Do you remember those books we read as kids that allowed us to pick what happens? ‘Turn to page 40 if you want this to happen; turn to page 63 if you want that to happen.’ I wish I could just turn to one page in my life to see what happens when I follow God and then turn to another page to see what happens if I go my own way. I know that God does everything perfectly but sometimes I just want to know now, or I want to do my own thing because momentarily I think that I know what I am doing apart from God.”

People often say “Be careful what you wish for.” Let’s just say Paul learned his lesson. “At least it was an easy lesson to learn,” he said when recalling the epic events that began on a Friday morning at the end of May.

We had spent the week on edge, waiting to see when Paul would be released but his training dates and flying schedule kept changing so we were never able to solidly confirm any plans. We made tentative plans to land in the States on May 31 and attend our nephew’s G.I. Joe themed birthday party Sunday, June 1. We would be jet lagged but at least we would be there for the first of his six birthdays. I had a plan to stop over in Sydney Friday night, have dinner with a friend and then take the morning flight to L.A. Paul had a million different plans that depended upon his departure date. If he left on Friday, he would go through Australia; if he was released for Saturday, he would fly through Japan. Let's just say he had every plan outlined and ready for whenever his boss said, "Go."

Thursday evening, May 29, we went to bed with a battle plan. Paul intended to meet with his boss early Friday morning. If he could get approval to leave that day, we would be on a plane and make our way to the U.S. that weekend as planned. I let him know that I was fine waiting the weekend. I had tasks I wanted to accomplish before a long-term departure: sorting through items that had not been used in the year since we arrived, tossing food that would not survive 2+ months in a non-ventilated tropical apartment, giving away any perishable items.

Friday morning as Paul showered and got ready to go into the office, I began packing my suitcase, just in case. As he left, I decided that I had packed enough. I needed to de-stress, so I went to the gym to burn some calories before a weekend stuck in an economy seat. At 10 a.m., I got the call. “We leave in three hours,” was the gist of it.

I finished my workout, showered and began packing all of the annoying little things that somehow become so cumbersome. Paul returned sometime after 11 and we rushed to get everything sorted, leaving a note for the housekeeping ladies to take whatever they wanted from our fridge.

Paul now admits that he felt his Spirit telling him not to go. He felt that he needed to wait but he was impatient, and he was so determined to leave the country that he ignored his Spirit and pushed us out the door. He was also in an unusually foul mood – short-tempered and irritated.

When we arrived at the airport, we were told that business class was full and our standby tickets would give us access to economy class. For the record, that was weird. Since we obtained the privilege to fly standby, we have been able to fly in business class. Every time. To be clear, we were happy to have a seat on the flight, so we were not complaining, it was just an odd occurrence to not be awarded a business class seat. At the airport Paul said he was tempted to go back to the apartment and wait another day or so, but he ultimately decided to continue.

We arrived in Sydney, checked into a hotel and met my friend for dinner before spending some time downtown and on Circular Quay enjoying the Vivid Sydney light shows. Flying standby all the way to Pittsburgh in Western Pennsylvania, we had four chances to make the Saturday flight from Sydney to Los Angeles and all four flights were full. We decided to skip the already full early flight that would get us into LA eight hours before our connecting flight and opted to try the afternoon flight that would still allow us to make the connection.

Saturday morning we left the hotel with our suitcases and took a paid shuttle to the international terminal. I waited in line at the Qantas counter while Paul queued at the United Airlines counter. At United, Paul discovered that our standby tickets were not valid so he did what he could to ensure we were listed for the flights while I continued to wait in my Qantas line where we were eventually given standby tickets and told to wait at yet another counter. Forty-five minutes later the woman advised us that the flight was full and that none of the 20 or so standby passengers waiting with us would be leaving Sydney that day. “Sunday's flights are also all full, so come back Monday and you should be O.K.” We also struck out with United.

Around 2 p.m., we left the airport and booked ourselves another hotel. We spent the night in Sydney and tried again the next day. We awoke unexpectedly early to a 5 a.m. wake-up call that we did not order, eventually got up, packed our things and once again paid a shuttle driver to take us to the international terminal. On the ride we learned that not one but two Delta flights from Sydney to LA had canceled two days in a row, which is why every flight to LA was booked all weekend. We knew we were risking it, but we tried again anyway.

After checking in and sitting 20 minutes at the wrong location, we rushed to the standby counter as an agent began calling names. Five minutes later we were awarded tickets – and we were able to sit next to each other. We were ecstatic but we had less than an hour to get from the ticket area through immigration and security to the gate. Of course, this was the perfect time for the two of us to get searched – Paul voluntarily, by the way. Nice time to opt out of the scanning machine, Mr. Libertarian. I waited five minutes for a woman to throw away the hair product that had originally been in my checked luggage. The container of hair whip was 4.1 oz. and I was only allowed 3.0 oz. My mistake. Stupid TSA regulations.

We made it onto the flight and into LA five minutes ahead of schedule, leaving an hour and a half to catch our direct flight to Pittsburgh. Except again our United tickets failed. This time the ticket agents were no help, Paul’s employee travel representatives in PNG didn’t work weekends and the reps on the phone were unable to easily assist Paul with his request. I popped into the bathroom to change clothes, brush my teeth and clean my face while Paul did what he could to rectify the issue.

We debated stopping again, booking an LA hotel and sleeping the day, returning 22 hours later to catch the next day’s direct flight. After some time, Paul decided to press on and I admitted that I was happy to just keep flying. He worked with a United representative to list us on the next flight to Pittsburgh by way of Chicago O’Hare and we made our way through security.

Side rant: What good is having the Global Traveler card if I never have access to the TSA Precheck line?!

The flight to Chicago was full and we were something like numbers 12 and 13 on the standby list. After missing the first flight and realizing that this was a trend that would continue to occur all day, we decided to give up and get a hotel. Paul went to find Special Services to retrieve our checked bags and I again alerted our family members of our change in plans.

“Can we get our bags?” I asked when he returned to the gate.

“No,” he said and advised that our bags, were "already on their way to Pittsburgh. They were put on the last flight. Apparently United does not require the people to travel with the bags – that was NOT the policy at US Air.”

“So our bags are on that plane that is now rolling toward the taxiway.”

“Yes.”

“Bye bags!” I waved out the window as the plane moved away from the gate.

Paul had had enough. We went to a terminal restaurant, found some Wi-Fi, he pulled out his credit card and booked us a couple of confirmed seats on a Southwest flight leaving two hours later. The flight would stop in Chicago and then continue on to Pittsburgh, and our bags would in theory be waiting for us when we landed at 8:30 p.m.

Luckily, that’s exactly what happened. We left PNG at midnight Thursday evening/Friday morning U.S. Eastern time and finally landed at “home” at 8:30 p.m. Sunday evening. Paul was done. Again. He didn't even want to talk about having anyone pick us up and drive us another hour and 15 minutes home. Before we left LA, he had booked us a hotel near the Pittsburgh airport so that we could crash and have a family member rescue us the following day, after a very late checkout.

I slept for 14 hours.

At 3 p.m. Monday, we checked out of our hotel and Paul’s mom drove us to the house where we finally just stopped for a few minutes and appreciated that we were done traveling. At least for the day. I had fewer than two weeks in town and there were a lot of people to see in that time frame.

This is that thing I last wrote about - seeing every single person in the country in a limited time because, after all, I am in the country. Ready, go!