So, let me set the scene:
It’s 6:55 AM and I’m already downstairs with both of my offspring. Where is their father? On route to the City of Coral Gables aka City Beautiful to request yet another permit (which was denied).
I go downstairs, give Joaquin his bottle and begin making breakfast with Santi. 7:00 AM, Rosita, my darling Rose waltz’ in from her night on the town. As I’m preparing food for me and my kids I ask if she’s hungry (spoiler: she is, so I make a smoothie for her too). 7:32 AM I’m done cooking, feeding my children and preparing Santi’s lunchbox. Usually Rose and I double team on this activity, but not today. No, today Rose needed her breakfast smoothie… I’m obviously out of my mind because I have 1,000 kids and am due in 7 weeks. She’s out of her mind because, well, she hates being a nanny. Amazing combination, right?
I head upstairs, leave Santi’s uniform on the bed and tell her to please just bring him up in the next 15 minutes. I know that in order to leave the house on time, I cannot delegate to anyone the task of dressing Santi. I gotta do it myself, so my request was clear: just bring him upstairs to his room. To be honest, she was the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s replacement and we never really clicked. I tried, trust me I tried but we just didn’t have chemistry. She didn’t like to talk a lot, was super-super slow and just overall not fun to be around. In short, I wasn’t into her. Now, I hate to sound like an ingrate because she really did try and she was nice. She helped when she could and at the end of the day, help is help.
But, just as she had amazing qualities, she also had ones that drove me over the edge. For example: I once asked her to dress Joaquin and she dressed Santi. She had been living with me for over two months so the fact that she hadn’t learned their names yet was a red flag (but I ignored it because help is help, remember?).
Anyway, I’m in my room getting dressed and I hear her getting agitated and more to the point, I hear that she and Santi are still downstairs. By this point it’s about 7:45 AM. As I head downstairs I hear her talking to him and when I turn the corner rage filled my eyes. Santi was eating an ice cream. Yeah, a MF ice cream at 7:45 AM. Look, I’m a mom. I’m not delusional, I know kids are tough, I know my kid can be a handful, but kids are kids and adults are adults. The adult has to be the one to set boundaries and never the child. Oh, but not with Rose. Nope, in her words “I just don’t like saying no to the children.” The conversation went something like this:
A: Que esta comiendo el niño? (What is he eating?)
R: Un helado… (An ice cream…)
A: PORQUE???????????? (WHY????????????)
R: Fijáte que no me gusta decirle que no al niño (I don’t like to say no to him)
A: Pero usted es la adulta! Como lo dejas comerse un helado a esta hora no entiendo? (But you’re the adult! How can you let him eat an ice cream at this time? I don’t get it)
R: Es que no quiero que me coja fastidio el niño (I don’t want the kid to not like me)
A: Mejor el que yo! (Better him than me!)
This went on and on for about 10 more minutes. By the end of it, I was in tears and she was saying that she was useless to my family and she’d give me until Friday. I’m sorry, WHAT? You gave my kid an ice cream at 7:45 AM so he’d like you and now you’re abandoning us EIGHT WEEKS BEFORE I GIVE BIRTH?
I head upstairs and my mom immediately asks what happened. “She gave him an ice cream…” And on that note, Rose began yelling at the top of her lungs that she was “sooooooo over me” and wanted to leave. So, I did what any sane mother would do on a Monday morning before 8:00 AM, I yanked Joaquin out of her hands and said if she wanted to quit, it had to be today. To be fair, I’m super pregnant and hormonal. Was I the nicest? No, I wasn’t. Did I have a right to be pissed? ABSOLUTELY.
I went to drop Santi off at school and by the time I came back she was gone. Oddly enough, even though I was completely and utterly screwed, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. Cause guess what, I never really liked her, and she was living in my house. I hadn’t had the heart to tell her we weren’t a good fit because she really needed the job (and I really needed the help).
But such is life. She’s gone, a new nanny has come in her place and my family is learning to adjust to a new person being part of our family. Is she the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel? Not by a landslide, but she’s really sweet and she calls me Chica.