F*CK

Here's what happens when you have to beg and borrow childcare:

Tonight, K told me about "nuts."

"Its a Shhh bad word," that so-and-so's friend told him. I didn't get a clear picture of what else went down (talking to my 3 year old often reminds of my attempts to get subway directions in Turkey) but the gist implied an off colour conversation, and possibly a demonstration, with some older kids at the park. This was Day 2 of what is essentially an all week play date, because Dear A is away, and we both had to work. And now I'm left feeling annoyed, angry, and guilty.

I'm waffling between taking the next two days off to take care of him myself (which would wreak havoc on work) or having an uncomfortable and possibly ineffective (due to the hazy understanding of what really went down) conversation with the two nannies who are supervising the play date this week. Don't get me wrong, I think both are fantastic caregivers. I just think maybe the huge group care wasn't the best solution. Or maybe I'm just feeling guilty for not being at the park to help my kid navigate a situation that made him uncomfortable.

And so... F*CK!!

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Nanny is Back. Mondays Suck.

Mondays suck because the nanny is back. Not because of Dear A. She's wonderful at her job. But if she is here, it means I'm not. After a weekend of piling everyone into our bed to read Grumpy Bird and picnic lunches beside the Thomas table, I will sit at my laptop while Dear A plays with  K and cuddles MC.

These days it's beyond working mom guilt to life guilt.

My kid has a Filipina accent. On Sunday...funny. On Monday...guilt.

My kid doesn't need his portable potty seat anymore. On Sunday... glad someone else deals with his shit most of the time. On Monday...guilt.

My baby will only take a bottle from Dear A. On Sunday... relief that I can crack a beer! On Monday... guilt.

The Potty-Mouth Problem

During one of our recent 'end of day' hand-off conversations, Dear A, quietly mentioned that K had used some "bad words" while they were out. I was mortified. Horrified.

Not about K's potty-mouth - I’m well aware that we, Captain F-Bomb and Mrs Sh*tSh*tSh*t, have spawned a 2 year old with a pretty colourful vocabulary and the wherewithal to use it. Nope, I was mortified that Dear A, our polite, church going, never utters a harsh word, nanny, had been out in public with K, King of the Swears.

I guess they’d been at the library and after dropping a book off the shelf K had very clearly stated, “Oh Sh*t!” When reprimanded, he burst into tears, melted into a tantrum and generally caused a scene. Dear A comforted him, calmed him down, and moved him along to another activity. Later that same outing, when he slipped at the mall play park, K dropped the F-Bomb.