Carria goes all out

Some people have a gift for connecting with children. The nanny I call Carria embodied the intimacy of emotional care, the emotional investment she was making each day. She was young, but most of the time she showed good judgment and the kind of energy working parents often cannot muster. She had lived-in with her client child and his single working mother since he first came home as a newborn. Eddie was adopted. The mother worked very long hours, so they formed a close bond. One day I saw her rolling in the grass with Eddie and another boy. Later a nanny put her child on Carria’s back and they played peek-a-boo with Eddie. Another time she entertained Eddie and his friends with a sand toy. She picked up a small plastic rake and silently raked imaginary sand off her shoulders, arms, and legs, very Charlie Chaplinesque. Then she handed it to Eddie to do the same. One day she playfully sat Eddie’s friend in a child’s toy stroller meant for dolls and pushed him across the grass. Eddie took the handles and pushed the little boy a few steps. Suddenly an English-speaker, possibly a mother, came over and said, “I’m sorry, but I need to take this.” Someone took the child out and the mother whisked the stroller away and placed it on top of a table where no children could reach. Carria had a rueful smile on her face as I walked over. She dismissed the mother’s concerns saying, “It was fun for them. If it broke I’d just buy a new one. It’s not real or expensive.” It was an awkward moment because Carria had missed a few cues. The stroller posed a danger because it was not built for real children. It belonged to another child and she had not asked to borrow it. Carria and the other nanny displayed a sense of entitlement I had not seen before.