My daughters have them, and were a bundle of advice. They tell me it's mostly due to stress. And didn't even have to ask if I'm stressed. They know I am worried about getting hooked up with nanny agencies, with only one real experience that I can list where I got paid to watch children. And under a year experience even here, when all is said and done, but hopefully my age will be a help in this rather than a hindrance. Maturity usually is when watching children, and since I've been here in Chicago, I've become Betty Crocker. I know, I know....NOT my vision either, but you know it ain't bad? I always wanted that Fairy Tale marriage where I could stay home and raise the kids and write and my husband would gainfully support us on one job and be home every night and the weekends to be a part of his children's lives and mine. And we would travel and go out and have fun in whatever city we chose to live in. I think I just got a little sick in my mouth, but you get the idea. I was a little girl after all.
A little girl who had her childhood ripped away from her by an abusive babysitter. This is how survivors, survive. How we live to not repeat the horror, or lock ourselves away in a room, where it is dark, because we just don't have the trust to try any longer. I can't be those girls. I want to hurt the men that hurt me, with my bare hands, with such anger that hell hath no fury to match. But I'm sure they are dead now or in prison and they aren't worth it. You know I'd get caught. Its like I'm a super hero about physical abuse now. "NOT ON MY WATCH!"And I fly away with the kids under each arm away from whatever harm is about to come to them. (But no capes. They are dangerous).n Of course there is no abuse here, and I'm sure there are some more kids out there that need loving, extra grandmas, to watch them while their parents are hard at work. I just have to find them. Thats the only real worry.
So I've decided that instead of finding the right man to fit my scenario, I'm becoming Mr. Right so that I can support myself in the manner to which I have become comfortable. Without the reason why, being my children's survival. I'm doing this for me. Because I deserve it. That's real growth from the scared and angry little abused girl I've been for so long. I'm looking forward to finishing my profiles on the nanny sites here and getting my references up and background checks done. This takes time and money, but things are going in the right direction. Forward. Once I find a part time gig to fit in with what the kids need of me here, then I can focus on a full time or several part time ones and find my own apartment! I sound like a teenager! I like that. Teenagers are full of youthful lack of experience and denial that demands they will never fail. And they jump. They just go and do it. That's what I need to find again. My confidence in myself as I was as a young woman. Fearless, before all the divorces and hurt and bad decisions. The one that took care of the scared little girl and made her less afraid. Convinced her she could do it, and didn't have to be silent. Unafraid to take the world on and never look back. I know she's still in here somewhere. I may have left her under a heap of dirty laundry, but once I have all that aired out I'm sure she'll pop up with that know-it-all smirk, the one that looks like "I know something you don't know." And she'll grab my hand and say, "NOT ON MY WATCH." And we'll be off.
Better catch up.