Free Secret Nanny Club by Marisa Mackle

pregnant women love it!
    My point about all of this is, a couple of years ago when I wasn’t pregnant and was a size eight, I attended the magazine’s annual summer party at the Grafton Lounge. I wore a chiffon pink-and-lime-green dress, which sounds hideous, but actually it was lovely. But fast
    forward and the summer party is next week. I’ve told them I can’t attend. I didn’t tell them the reason was because I can’t afford a baby-sitter and that nothing fits me now anyway. I’m probably more like a size fourteen this year which means that absolutely nothing fits. Oh God, why can’t I lose weight? If anyone has a miracle solution, suggestions on a postcard please. And don’t say I should try sit-ups or anything because life’s too short for that. Even Mum wiped me off the tennis court last week and after just one set I nearly collapsed with exhaustion. Blast you, Posh Spice, for making it look easy! You too, Julia Roberts! I hadn’t thought I was too bad really until I recently spotted a photo of mum-of-three, Julia Roberts,
    running on a beach in her bikini in one of the papers. It really put the pressure on. I mean, if she can do it, we should all be able to do it, right? Dammit!
    I interviewed all day without any luck. After Karena left, another girl arrived with her boyfriend. I didn’t think this was a good sign. She didn’t speak any English and her boyfriend was going to be her translator. I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t accommodate a couple. The flat was tiny. I explained this to the boyfriend who then turned to his girlfriend to explain what I just said. The two of them looked so disappointed that I felt guilty for turning them away but what could I do? It would never work with a couple.
    Then two girls came at once. One said her name was Inga and the other girl was an Irish girl called Diane. I smiled at them both and thanked them for coming. I asked Inga if she wouldn’t mind waiting outside for about ten minutes while I interviewed Diane. Inga gave a great big sigh and looked at her watch. “I haven’t got all day, you know,” she said sullenly.
    I have to say I was a little shocked. “Right,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “I do understand but you’re a little early for the interview. Please wait.”
    Then I took Diane into the kitchen. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. Diane had long thick dark hair which she wore in a plait. She was wearing a long wine-coloured maxi dress and a wraparound cardigan. She wore sandals on her feet and she had a brown satchel hung over her shoulder. She was polite but didn’t smile.
    “What hours would I be expected to work?” she asked outright.
    “Well, I work two and a half days a week so I’d like you to work those days at the very least but ideally I’d like you to work every day with Saturday and Sunday off.”
    “Right. What do you do? I mean, what do you work at?”
    I gulped. Just who was supposed to be interviewing whom?
    “I work as a fashion stylist for a magazine.”
    “Oh, very nice.”
    Funny, that’s mostly the reaction I get from everyone when I say what I do for a living. If only they knew the reality!
    “It’s okay,” I said, “but it’s really not as glamorous as it sounds.”
    “But it’s better than minding babies, right? I mean, cleaning poop and wiping away vomit isn’t glamorous either or well-paid, but hey, we all need to earn a crust somehow!”
    To say I was stunned by her answer was an absolute understatement.
    “Don’t you like child minding?” I asked.
    “Oh, I do,” said Diane. “It could be worse, I suppose, but like, nobody grows up thinking they’d like to be a child minder when they’re older, do they? But with the tough economic times we’re in now, you’ll take whatever you can take, hey?”
    I was appalled. Did she really think I’d entrust with my son with somebody who was minding him because there was nothing else to do? My God!
    “So are you looking around at other jobs?”