Monday morning and it’s back to work. Things are becoming a bit more routine now and therefore a little easier.
Breakfast is always… well, let’s say breakfast is always messy. Three-year-old Mini eats a hundred different things. I prefer to do breakfast a bit simpler but India will get out various cereals, boil an egg, make toast, scramble eggs for Freddie, chop fruit up, get natural yoghurt out of the fridge, fry an egg, toast a wholewheat English muffin and so on. All within the space of five minutes.
When she leaves, which often is fairly promptly after I come down to the kitchen, I’m left to clean up the mess. India always apologises for the mess and makes a slight attempt at clearing some stuff away, like her own coffee cup. But everything else is still in use so there’s not much else she can do. She usually makes me a coffee on the “proper coffee” machine as a peace offering.
Mini has got used to me now. I’m fairly sure she likes me but she does still ask after Tanya, the previous nanny. She usually asks this to her Mum, which makes me feel a bit crappy but oh well. She doesn’t kick and scream when she’s left with me so I suppose I should be grateful.
“Mummy, where is Tanya?” Mini asked this morning.
“She’s gone to New York to look after a tiny baby,” India replies.
“Tiny like Freddie?” She asks referring to her ten-month-old baby brother.
“No. Smaller. Really small. One that’s only just popped out of it’s Mummy’s tummy.” India gives me a knowing look; babies “pop out of tummies” in this household.
“Oh, probably the baby drinks milk from the Mummy.” Mini concludes.
At this point I kind of hope she’s not going to bring my name into it and refer to our discussion on breast milk (refer to previous post Conversations With A Three Year Old, Part One).
Luckily she doesn’t.
As I’m dropping Mini off at her nursery, I spot who is bringing her best friend Adriana. I say best friend, it’s just who Mini talks about the most and seems to play with the most.
Adriana’s nanny looks a similar age to me and friendly so I approach her and introduce myself.
“Oh, hey,” she says in a friendly tone, ” I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I used to hang out with Tanya and the kids heeps so we should too.”
We continue chatting as I’m pushing Freddie in the stroller. We walk along Kensington High Street for a while. She’s called Claire and is an Australian nanny. She’s been in London for a year and a half looking after Adriana and her six-year-old brother Marco.
“I’m live in too,” she tells me. “But I so want to move out soon. Being there all the time is driving me crazy. They don’t go away on the weekends like your guys.”
I agree that having the house to myself at the weekend is really good. Claire lives in a flat with her family so they are always on top of each other. In the evenings and weekends, she can’t help but see and hear them.
It makes me feel really glad I’ve got the job I’ve got. Even though my room is next to Mini’s at least the house is big and they go away each weekend.
We part ways when Claire needs to go into Whole Foods to do some shopping and I’m heading to the park with Freddie. Before we go we arrange to do something on Tuesday afternoon with the kids.
Hooray, I have a new friend!