Back. Again.

Back to blogland. I'm in the process of my semi-annual job search. That's the problem with being a nanny, kids grow up and it feels like you're always looking. Nothing illustrates the passage of time more effectively than children. It's especially weird because I specialize in infants and toddlers. I'm considering adding doula (both post-partum and birth) and possibly, MAYBE, in the future, midwife. That involves some additional training which necessitates travel to exotic locations like... Tennessee! All of these daydreams and idle fantasies are contingent upon me securing reasonable employment for the next two years. The first girl I ever nannied for just turned 9. She's 9. How can that be? Moreover, how was I ever that young? How did I end up working with children? Why can't I imagine doing anything else? I worked my butt off for a degree from a good school (and I get to pay for it forever). I could have easily gone to grad school and done social work like I planned. But I just... I just love my ridiculous, hard, challenging, silly job. I couldn't imagine a life surrounded by white walls and the beep of machinery. I could imagine a life where I could wear jewelry to work, come home with nothing stained, read Joan Didion hardcovers in Rittenhouse over lunch and have a unhealthy level of intimacy with a blackberry. But ultimately it's not me. And for that I'm kind of happy. Even if I am covered in snot.