How To Nanny During A Pandemic

I work as a nanny. I’m the only employee at my workplace, and that workplace is another family’s apartment. My routine up until the second week in March was to show up, take care of the toddler in the morning and early afternoon (including a roughly three-hour nap), and then go pick up the preschooler.

Then in March, everything changed.

No more school. No more museums. Playgrounds were a no-go.

Suddenly every day was a ​“busy day.” Both kids were home, all day. With almost nowhere to go.

One of my most fundamental beliefs about childcare (and I’m hardly alone in this) is that children need consistency, with flexibility. They need the security of knowing what to expect every day but with room for spontaneity.

When schools closed, I threw myself into preparing activities for them. I color-coded folders and everything.

The 5‑year-old is at that stage where he’ll ask what we should do and then whine that every suggestion is boring. As someone sometimes overwhelmed by options myself, I can certainly relate: There are so many things to watch on Netflix! There are so many books piling up in my room that I planned to start reading three years ago! I can’t decide where to start, so I’m just going to return to looking at dogs on Instagram!

In my quest to give him enough options to find something he wanted to try, I had given him so many choices that he didn’t want to try any of them. I had gone too far into trying to set up structure.

I think the most stressful aspect of this whole situation is that I no longer have any backup plans. Until mid-March, I always had a wild card in my pocket. The park. A museum. Even just a walk around the block.

Now I have nothing but myself to fall back on.

I came close to completely freaking out. All the hard work I’d done to prepare had led to a whole lot of nothing.

This is the sort of internal reaction my therapist and I have been working on managing. I took a whole lot of deep breaths, ate some chocolate, and went back to the drawing board.

This kid loves scavenger hunts. I started leaving in-progress activities around the apartment for him to find.

I leave art projects set up for him on the table. He wanders over, moaning about how he has nothing to do, and asks what I’m doing.

“Oh, just a little project,” I say casually.

“What is it?”

“Oh, I’m just building this bridge over this construction paper river I’ve made. Would you like to try?”

And the next thing I know, we’ve spent two hours setting bridge-building challenges for each other, while his little sister rubs a glue stick on the vase on the dining room table. Oops.

Instead of asking the kids if they want to paint, I set up the painting supplies on the dining room table and wait for them to notice. This also gives me the advantage of not having the kids swarm me while I’m setting up. There is less opportunity for them to lose interest. It is not a new experience for the kids to ask to do something that requires some fairly elaborate set up, and then by the time I’ve spent five valuable minutes setting it up, they want to do something completely different.

I promised myself when this whole thing started that I would focus on the things I could control and try not to obsess about the things I can’t. The serenity prayer and all that.

Of course there are things I miss.

I miss the toddler’s busy social calendar. I miss Thursday morning story and yoga time at R.J. Julia. I miss Friday morning playgroup. I miss being able to tell the kids that we’re going to the park without an annotated, step-by-step itinerary. I miss going to Nica’s Market for breakfast before work.

Like many people, I structure my days around my job. The whole ​“find something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life” thing is nonsense, but I do love the sense of purpose I find in my work.

I know that my work matters. The evidence is right in front of me, in the form of the strong relationship I have with these kids and their parents. On the toughest days, both pre-pandemic and mid-pandemic, that evidence is what I go back to. These parents trust me to play a central role in the lives of their young, rapidly-growing and highly-impressionable children.

I’m lucky. I’ve been working with this family for a long time, and we have a wonderful, collaborative relationship. (And I’m not just saying that because I know they’re reading this!)

We’re lucky to have each other really. I’m lucky to have a job I love so much with a family I adore. They treat me with the perfect balance of professionalism and familiarity. It’s a delicate relationship to handle at the best of times — I’m an employee, not family. Yet I spend more time caring for their children than anyone except them. It’s a responsibility I take very seriously.

And I flatter myself by saying that the parents I work for are lucky to have me taking care of their kids. They can get out of the house and focus on their work.

When we talk about providing normalcy and consistency and a sense of security to the kids, we’re also talking about providing those things to ourselves and each other.

Previous Pandemic Diaries:

• Nursing Home Hell
• ICU Nurse Pivots To ​“New Territory”
• Covid Claims ​“Big E”
• Ray Of Hope Slips Through ICU Glass Doors
• The View From Inside The ER
• Doc Glimpses Coming Covid-19 ​“Storm”
• Day 20: I’m A Fighter, Not A Quitter
• Cops Roll With ​“Change Of Conditions”
• The Distance Between Us Diminishes
• Seniors Stuck In Stop & Shop Jam
• Burial In The Age Of Covid-19