A few days ago I was reunited with Mort. For those of you who need a refresher, Mort is the three-year-old boy I used to nanny who I lovingly named after a grandpa because of his large but dysfunctional vocabulary. (See entry “Out of the Motherhood” from September 6th, 2011 for more details on this amazing child.) I was so excited to see this little guy; I’ve been surprised by how much I miss him.
I had to stop nannying Mort because he started going to school, a place that I’ve recently realized harbors my greatest fear. Mort at school means he is constantly surrounded by teachers, teachers who could easily be confused for nanny-figures, and therefore nanny-figures who could easily replace me as Mort’s best friend in his mind. I didn’t know Mort forgetting about me was my biggest fear until I babysat him on Friday night and the time we’ve spent apart was all too obvious.
In an effort to remind Mort of all the fun we’d had, I acted like a 14-year-old girl desperately trying to win over the popular kid or a neglected son seeking his father’s love and attention. I was overeager (let’s play GAMES and have FUN!), I was overly flattering (cool new pajamas, Mort!), I was begging for his approval. I had to cram in enough fun in the hour and a half before bedtime to outshine the months of preschool fun he’d been having. I had no time to lose. As soon as the parents left, I decided to address the elephant in the room. I’m sure Mort was unaware of this elephant in the room; he was probably busy reflecting on the fun filled day he had at school with his cool teachers, but I had to know: did he miss me as much as I missed him?
“Do you miss me, Mort? Do you miss all the fun we used to have?” I was guilting him into reminiscing with me.
“No, I miss mommy and daddy” Not only did Mort not miss me in his daily life, he was also having so little fun with me that he already missed his parents who had been gone all of 5 minutes.
But I was not deterred, I was going to remind him how much fun I was whether he liked it or not! While playing with cutout monsters, Mort warmed up to me (I’d like to say I knew he would all along, but the truth is I was a jumble of nerves). When our monsters teamed up to successfully defeat an action figure, I found it to be the perfect time to bring up our friendship again.
“Nice job monsters! We’re a great team!” our monsters high-fived. “And best friends…” I added, gently insinuating that these monsters were a metaphor for us. Mort responded with a trailed off “Well…” and the very distinct let’s-not-get-ahead-of-ourselves-here tone was impossible to miss.
The lack of love I was getting from this kid was ridiculous. I found myself voluntarily doing things that he used to have to demand of me just so he would notice me. Hey, hey, Mort, do you see me hunching over, severely damaging my back so we can have this really life like train chase on this table that is a proper and comfortable height for a toddler but terribly low and awkward for a grown person? Do you see, Mort? DO YOU SEE??
I gave him some “look, I’m cool and fun” M&Ms, I let him stay up 30-minutes past his bedtime and I made sure the photo of us that I gave to the family before I left was front and center on their refrigerator. I really think I subtly reinforced my presence into his subconscious. Take THAT, teachers!
