I stayed home with my son for the first year of his life. When my son turned a year, I began working on a per diem basis for the NYC Department of Education as a substitute teacher. My parents have been gracious enough to babysit when I am working. But they are retired and I feel like I am cutting into their “golden years.”
My Babysitter is Not 30…But I Am!
I mean, they are hippies. And what do cool hippie grandparents do in New York City? They go to Wednesday matinees at the theater, they check out a movie, when they feel like it, they garden, they go hear former Governor Cuomo speak. You get the point.
My mom has been telling me for months to find a back up babysitter. She suggested a high school student. Maybe there is something wrong with me, but I keep feeling like mentally and emotionally I, myself, am still in high school. I can still pull off pig tails.
Anyhow, a colleague of mine has a lovely daughter who is in high school and babysits. She agreed to babysit for my son for a reasonable rate.
When I met her, I was forced to admit to myself that I am not in high school. I’m getting older, people. Not to say that 30 is “old” by any means. But the difference between her and I is clear. This girl looks great! She’s in great shape, skinny, can probably eat an entire pan of brownies and not gain a pound, her hair is long and fantastic looking and she wears stylish yet sophisticated looking glasses.
I came home from picking my son up, looked in the mirror and realized that I am not 17 anymore. But my babysitter is…