My kids used to be clingers. I couldn’t go anywhere. I couldn’t leave them, ever. When my husband and I would go out (about once every three months) we had to have an elaborate ritual, where the babysitter would come and stay while we were home for about and hour. Then my husband and I would put the girls to bed, by ourselves. Then we’d sneak out like teenagers, and hope we didn’t wake them up.
Not much babysitting involved, right?
Thankfully, they’ve outgrown this stage. Well, it’s a combination of getting older, and the fact that we have an amazing weekend babysitter, Rachel.
She is just so excellent. She relates to the girls on a childlike level, playing with them endlessly, her imagination never running out. She redirects effortlessly, and can make up solutions that the girls find viable on the spot. (Last time we came home, the girls told me that she put fairies in their room to keep them safe at night. They were all about it.)
It’s at the point where they love her. I mean, really. They love Rachel. They’ve seen her maybe five times in their whole lives. (We don’t get out much.)
Which is great, fantastic, really. It’s important to me that I leave the girls with someone they’ll have fun with and with someone who can take control if necessary. That’s the only reason I can go to the gym twice a week. The girl who comes to sit for me in the afternoons when I go is completely competent and the girls like her. Unfortunately for me, both Brittany and Rachel are leaving after this summer. So I have two problems.