The Other Woman*

Tetyana Denford - 5 Jun 16

She’s constantly there. She’s there when you’re not (and sometimes even when you are), she’s there with your children, a flurry of love and activity and energy. She makes them laugh, gives them hugs, reads them stories, puts them to bed. She assuages your guilt and makes you feel like a better version of yourself on days where you just. can’t. deal.

When we lived in London and had had our first baby, I was desperate to get back to work after a few months. I didn’t have any friends around that had kids, I was an American that still didn’t “fit in” with the Brits, and my husband was logging in long hours for his new business. I wanted to escape to work to find solace in a quiet cup of coffee and the sound of clicking keys on a keyboard.

We researched nurseries in the area, and all of them were great options, but pretty expensive. I thought… why not look at hiring a nanny? I interviewed girls of varying ages and experience, and discovered that the rates that they were seeking would be nominally different than nursery prices. I weighed up the pros and cons and realised that for roughly the same price as a nursery, I would have a sole-carer for my child that could put her down for naps in her own bed, feed her the food that I had made, and offer her undivided attention. She would be me when I couldn’t be. It was a no-brainer.

When I interviewed Samantha, I knew that she was the one for us. She had previously been in charge of a nursery, she was lovely to talk to, funny, calm, bright-eyed and professional. She smelled like fresh linen, and gave me a lovely hug after our interview (hugs are my favourite things). I trusted my instincts; the hairs on the back of my neck told me “yes”–and I was right. She took charge of my daughter’s day; she followed the routine, she fed her fantastic homemade food, she taught her little games and songs, helped her take her first steps, took her for walks to the park. She even tidied up the house without me having to ask her, which was the mental equivalent of having a shower, fresh clothes and a massage at the end of a work day. I was so incredibly grateful. Samantha was there when we had our 2nd baby and I went back to work again after 4 months. That time in my life was sane and organised and capable in large part because of her. She made it possible for me to get space to myself, she made it possible for us to have a two-income household without too much stress. But more importantly, she provided a loving, stable and creative world for our children. She was priceless (and quite honestly, there were days I swear I appreciated her more than my husband). Samantha was also the girl that saved me from too much guilt when I came in, late, completely hammered from a work party. She didn’t judge, she just smiled and pointed me in the direction of the sink to dump the vomit out of my handbag (not my best adult moment, I admit). She deserved a goddamn parade that day.

I very often see nannies and childminders in the village I live in. They’re incredible. They always have a smile on their face, they never raise their voice, their hands are always loving, guiding, cuddling and protecting their charges (even if they’re trying to walk across the park with these tiny humans hanging from their ankles). Their energy is almost always incredibly calm and open, and I’ve found that their the best people to talk to, because their childlike energy is infectious. It makes me smile. I think it takes a very specific brain to handle that kind of job, because I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have it in me. There is very little of the ‘oh sure, I’ll push you on the swing for another 45 minutes straight, how fun! Hurray!’ More often than not, I’m the gravelly-voiced fishwife shouting across the park to my 3 kids “PACK IT IN! WE’RE GOING HOME NOW, AND IF YOU COMPLAIN, YOU’RE HAVING WATER FOR DINNER!”

This is a HEY GURRL GIMME A HIGH-FIVE shoutout to the groups of ‘other women’ out there. The sometimes-surrogate mums. The ones who deal with the poo stains, the vomit, the pasta-throwing, the screaming meltdowns… so that we can deal with spreadsheets, PowerPoint slides and Barry-the-office-letch. The ones who herd the feral little ones like cats in heat so that we can push through crowded tube stations or traffic on motorways. The ones who sometimes deal with night feeds so that we can give our empty-sock saggy boobs a rest. The ones that offer a sympathetic glance or glass of wine when we feel guilty about spending time away from our kids and feel like imperfect, impatient mothers. The ones that sometimes have to pull double-duty as Mum-and-Dad, and allow us the freedom to do whatever we want to do: whether that’s running a business or taking German classes or working night shifts. They are all incredibly invaluable resources to a mother’s sanity.

These super-humans are the ones who allow us to find that critical piece of calm in our family circus; and also to locate our car keys, and sometimes even remind us the names of our children (and husband).

Thank you, Samantha, and all of you wonder women. Now, can you please help me peel my child off the roof? Awesome.

*and hey… this isn’t to exclude the men out there that do the same hard job. you’re also totally incredible as well.

Tetyana Denford

Tetyana is a Ukrainian-American mum of three, married to an Englishman, living in NY. She's written for Elle and Vogue magazines, and her first novel 'Motherland' is available at Amazon. She hosts a YouTube show called The Craft and Business of Books, translates for Frontline PBS news, and writes freelance.

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