Nannies and Gender Politics

This is my first post on Feministing Community. I’ve been itching to jump in ever since I signed up but I wanted to make sure whatever I decided to start with hadn’t already been covered endlessly. So after a few weeks of browsing the archives (which is completely addictive by the way) I’ve decided to talk a little bit about my experience working as a nanny in an affluent California community.

I didn’t become a nanny on purpose. I went into it with zero understanding of the social hierarchy that exists in communities where nannies raise children. I just wanted extra beer money. Seriously.

It was a Friday afternoon and I was staring down another weekend of barhopping with not a penny to spare. I was lying on my dorm bed with my legs against the wall and my head hanging off the side whining to my roommate about the unfairness of it all. I didn’t have time for a “real job” and I was perpetually broke. She showed me a page on our school website where local women posted ads for part time nannies. Awesome. I knew I could do that. I’d done some babysitting in high school so this would obviously be a piece of cake.  I contacted a few of the families who’d posted ads, left messages and went out feeling confident that even if I spent all my food money for the coming week on drinks that night, it wouldn’t matter thanks to all the money I’d be making as a nanny.

Cut to the next morning. It’s 11am, I’m hung over and passed out face down on my bed. That’s when the phone calls started pouring in. Can you come from an interview? What kind of car do you drive? Do you have any background in early childhood development? How many languages do you speak? I went to four interviews that afternoon and many more in the weeks to come. All of the houses were beautiful. All of the women had their master’s or PhD.  For anyone who’s seen or read The Nanny Diaries , it isn’t really like that. These aren’t women who are looking for “me time”.  These are very smart, highly motivated, successful women who happen to need childcare. I idolized them. I wanted to be them.

I think I was most enamored of how educated and sophisticated the
parents seemed. My parents both went to college and my dad even did a
little bit of grad school… but sophisticated is not a word I’d ever use
to describe my family. We’re from Oklahoma… that’s where sophistication
goes to die. I was so impressed that these parents could work all day,
come home and be with their kids at night and then have a thoughtful
and nuanced political discussion with me after the kids were in bed. It
seemed superhuman.

Needless to say, it was not as easy as I
thought it would be. I did make quite a bit of money but I was also
puked on more than once. One woman sent me to Costco with a shopping
list and a cranky 3-year-old. Once a dad with a lot of books on tantric
sex on his bookshelf hit on me. A kid head butted me and gave me a fat
lip. I worked long hours. I watched Teletubbies.

I ended up staying with one family through most of my time at
school. I worked on evenings and weekends for other families and during
the summer I juggled kids around constantly. In my last year of school,
after a truly devastating break-up, I took a live-in position. I
immersed myself in all things nanny. I was spending a lot less time at
the bar and a lot more time at the park. I developed a deep affection
for Sesame Street.
Before I became a nanny I emphatically told
anyone who would listen that I never wanted kids. I know the “you’ll
want kids someday” argument has annoyed many a Feministing reader and
rightfully so. It turned out to be true for me. I still don’t want kids
right NOW but I know that I do eventually. I consider being good with
kids to be one of my greatest strengths. Not as a woman but as a person.

But even beyond all that, being a nanny gave me a
resourcefulness and insight into other people’s lives that I know I
wouldn’t have gained otherwise.  That glimpse into someone else’s life
proved invaluable. At times I was very critical. I didn’t understand
why they were making their kid do X when it was so stupid. I saw
outbursts, arguments and maybe even the end of a marriage or two.
Families that had seemed so perfect turned out to be just as flawed as
mine. But just like mine, they were making it work. And really, I never
had any justification in criticizing the way in which these mothers
were raising their children. They were all exceptionally good parents
and even though they were all very wealthy and prized gender equality
as in idea, the burden of caring for the children rested largely in the
mothers’ hands. I know the money and privilege they had access to give
them an advantage that many women don’t have. I know I needed the money
less than many of the immigrant women who are scraping by on a nanny’s
wages all up and down the coast. We were all doing the best we could.
Criticizing the way in which a woman chooses to raise her children is
petty. Furthermore, it’s just as much of an attack on her autonomy as
criticizing her sexuality or intellect.

I learned a lot of things from my time as a nanny. What struck
me the most though is that no matter how privileged they may or may not
be, most women are trapped in some way.  The women I worked for were
trapped by an expectation. They were meant to be executives,
politicians, professors and mommies. Any time they slipped or wavered,
there was someone there to launch an attack. Sometimes it was me. I
deeply regret that. There’s no such thing as a perfect mother. Being a
nanny never gave me the right to assume that I knew better than they
did but I assumed nonetheless. In doing so, I became another smug
asshole who believes that it’s always okay to criticize a woman’s work.