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Tipping my lips up, I bob my head, appreciating his vote of confidence.
Then I look back out to the yard at my son.
He’s been my life, my entire life since the day he was born.
And now I’m going to have to hand my life to someone else.
***
“Hey there, Bibbity Bob, that’s a pretty cool shirt.”
The sound of Teddy giggling wafts through the house.
“I’m not Bibby Bobby. I’m Teddy.”
Emily laughs. “Oh that’s right!”
Teddy giggles again.
It’s the end of Emily’s first week working in my house, and as much as I resent it, I have to admit she’s been doing a really good job with my son.
Like this stupid name game she plays with him. She calls him something weird—Bibbity Bob or Dancing Diego—and he thinks it is just the funniest thing.
Or the way she handles his tantrums. She lies down next to him when he’s screaming because he wants something and she starts screaming, too. I’ve stood in the hallway outside my office watching that twice now with my eyebrows raised, shocked at the way it ends with the both of them giggling together.
But the strangest part about having a nanny for Teddy, at least for now, is that I’m still at home. So during this kind of…transition period, as Emily is developing a routine with him, I’ve been feeling fairly strained. And I’m not sure if I’m the only one who feels that way or if Emily feels it, too.
I’ve made sure to close myself off in the office, getting it in order and tugging out some of my old college lesson plans for reference, sorting through the boxes that have mostly sat unopened in here since our move from Charleston. But it’s hard not to pop out to the living room or kitchen whenever I hear Teddy crying or throwing a fit, just to give a bit of help.
After a few instances, though, she suggested I get some noise-canceling headphones to make sure I’m not disturbed while I’m working.
If that wasn’t the sweetest way possible to tell me to fuck off…
Ultimately, I’m realizing I didn’t really think through what a day with a nanny would look like. Somewhere in my head was a vision of me, still taking care of Teddy, but maybe handing him off to a nanny to wash his hands or change his clothes. Emily’s job was less about caring for Teddy and getting him acclimated to a new life where I have a job, and more about being this other entity around if I need an extra pair of hands.
Clearly, that’s not how things are supposed to work. And even though I hate to admit it, it’s not how things should work. I can’t chase after Teddy and feed him and all the other things he needs and be at the school teaching a class. I can’t even do those things while I’m here, working on lesson plans.
But today is Friday, and I know I have a long wonderful weekend ahead with just me and Ted, so I’ve promised myself I’m going to stay out of Emily’s hair. Give her a full day of doing what I’m paying her to do and focus all of my attention on getting this work done.
My office is fairly large, with room for my desk in one corner, an entire wall of bookshelves, and space for maybe a couch and coffee table if I decide I want them at some point. When we first moved to Sandalwood, all of my previous work stuff got shoved in here with my office furniture and promptly forgotten.
Books from college, favorite texts I used in my own courses, years of old lesson plans, plus personal and financial paperwork.
Even though I know I need to spend some more time today on reviewing the district textbook I picked up earlier this week, the state of my office has been driving me nuts for days, so I decide to take some time to unpack some of the larger, more intrusive boxes.
I put my books and folders on the dusty shelves that have been waiting to be filled, hang my framed degrees on the wall, and try to make the desk look like a place to work rather than a place to set things that will never be thought of again.
Even though I don’t want to admit it, there’s a small part of me that’s irritated I haven’t done this yet. Sure, I was busy being a dad and really didn’t have a need for an office, but I could have taken a Saturday here or there to sort through these things and get them tidied.
It’s just another reminder of how lopsided things were. It should have been natural for me to get a free day here and there to do something other than be a parent—go to the gym, hang out with August, spend time in my office. But sometimes I wonder if Melody wanted to pretend she didn’t have a child to think about.
I set out a framed picture of my son next to the computer monitor, unable to imagine a world where I’m anything but crazy about my kid.
As I move through the items, I hear Teddy and Emily in the living room, laughing and playing. Then I hear them out in the yard, though I only turn to watch them out my window for a few moments before I try to tackle a box of files that need to be sorted into the tall filing cabinet in the corner.
Eventually, I decide to take a break and get some lunch, heading out to the kitchen and making myself a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Daddy!”
