I tried to take her mind off of how lousy she felt and talked a lot about baby Joey. I mentioned my concerns over the very real possibility that our first nanny Amy would leave one day, and one day soon.

“Rach, your nanny is replaceable,” she said in a very soft voice. “Joey knows you are the mother. Don’t ever forget that.” That was some of the best advice that anyone has ever given to me. I thought about it a lot over the course of employing many more nannies. I still find myself giving that advice to other working moms.

Mother was right

My mother was right. When nanny number two, Ellie, and nanny number three, Molly, came in and went out of our lives within the course of one year, I tried to keep that advice close to my heart and to my mind, but it was hard. I was very worried about two-year-old Joey when we began the search for nanny number four. I thought for sure that I had screwed him up for life with the revolving nanny door in our house. I wondered if he would develop trust and abandonment issues? He must have been wondering who he should listen to, who was in charge, who would stick around? Who were all those ladies taking care of him?

I thought for sure that I had screwed my son’s life with the revolving nanny door in our house

In reality, though, Joey only had one thing on his little two-year-old mind: Bob the Builder. You know, the animated contractor from the popular television series on Nick Jr. and later PBS. Joey became obsessed with Bob, Wendy, Scoop, Muck, Dizzy and my favourite, Farmer Pickles. He couldn’t get enough of the show and all of the mini action figures that made up the construction crew. I happened to mention his fascination with Bob to Joey’s preschool teacher one day in the midst of explaining my worries about finding a new nanny that Joey could connect with. The teacher suggested that when I hire the new nanny, I buy some Bob the Builder action figures and give them to the nanny to give to Joey. Then, she explained, he would feel at least some kind of connection.

I liked it. And so, after we officially hired nanny number four, Julie, I gave her a few new Bob characters to give to Joey, explaining my strategy. My husband Neil thought I was a little nuts. Nanny Julie probably did too. I kind of thought I was. Regardless, the plan worked. I introduced nanny number four, Julie, to Joey as a big fan of Bob the Builder.

“Look Joey, Julie likes Dizzy too!” I explained to him as I could actually hear the desperation in my voice. Joey seemed content. Bob or no Bob, I think deep down Joey was secure enough to know that although he had new nannies coming and going, I would be there every single day for him. Although I didn’t care for him all day long, he knew I was the mother, and that I wasn’t going anywhere. I sensed this in the sweet smile I got from him every workday when I came in the door. He was happy to see me, but he also knew he would see me. I was the mother, the only one.

Nanny Alice in my wonderland

On an intellectual level I understood that my kids knew I was their one and only mother. That didn’t change the fact that it sometimes hurt on an emotional level when I let the nanny take over to care for them, especially on those occasions when it seemed like my kids were better off with the nanny than they were with me. Joey and Rebecca took direction from nanny Alice way better than they ever did from me. I was green with envy as I watched Rebecca sit still and not make a sound as nanny Alice brushed out her knotty hair one morning. Brushing out Rebecca’s hair always brought on a fight between the two of us, and Rebecca never let me put her hair up in pigtails. Nanny Alice did her hair in pigtails, braids, French braids, whatever hairdo she fancied. I was amazed. Rebecca looked adorable. I was happy that she looked so cute, but also jealous that she would only let our nanny make her look that cute. Who was I? Just the mother…

I was green with envy as I watched Rebecca sit still and not make a sound as nanny Alice brushed out her knotty hair one morning

I arrived home on the earlier side one evening to find the kids setting the table for the dinner that nanny Alice was making for them. I was impressed. My five- and three-year-olds were taking part in preparing for dinnertime in a very real way. I was happy that Alice had them helping out like that. Then I wondered, Why didn’t I think of that? If I had, the kids probably wouldn’t have been as agreeable to the whole idea as they were with nanny Alice. She made taking care of my kids look so easy and so fun. It was never that easy for me.

Nanny Alice sometimes sensed my envy, and she was very understanding about it.

“Rach, it’s my job to have fun with the kids. I am getting paid to do it,” she said one evening to me. “You have to take care of the kids and do everything else too. I can just focus on them,” nanny Alice explained. She did have a point. When I was with the kids, I also had to do laundry, shop for grocery, make dinner, make the family plans, check my work emails, and try to be a good wife, friend, daughter, and sister. Nanny Alice could, for the most part, just focus on taking care of the kids for nine hours a day, three days a week. I appreciated her honesty with me, and perhaps even sympathy for me. She validated my insecurity on the issue, and I never really considered myself to be insecure—about anything. I thank my mother for instilling me with a strong sense of self. I guess it didn’t translate so well into motherhood though, at least back then.

My share of fun

My jealousy of nanny Alice’s ease with my kids only grew as I began to feel more and more that I was missing out on the fun stuff that she got to do with them as they got older. I couldn’t attend their preschool back-to-school picnic as it was smack in the middle of a workday when I was running a meeting. Nanny Alice was happy to go in my place, and I appreciated that. She had been with us for a couple years at that point and knew the children’s friends, their teachers, and many of the other mothers and nannies. Alice had fun at these events. She took lots of pictures for me of the kids getting rides on the pony and playing in the little bounce house. I loved to check out their painted faces [Alice’s too] at the end of the day when I got home, but I secretly wished that I was the one there with the kids helping them to choose between the mermaid and the fish, or the soccer and the basketball face paint designs.

Excerpted with permission from Who’s Going to Watch My Kids?, by Rachel Levy Lesser, published by Turning Stones Press.

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The era of the dragon mother is gone, when children were mice that tried not to get under her feet and grew cat whiskers only when she was well out of their way. Today, democracy has entered the home. And like any territory that is freed of dictatorship suddenly, the democratic home is also struggling to find its balance. In homes where communication is a two-way street, it works. Questions are asked and answered, territories are marked out and rules are laid down for all parties. Aberrations, when they occur, are dealt with using the same arsenal of communication and tempered discipline.

But in other scenarios, mothers are mothers in so far as they have given birth and tended the squealing, squalling little one to an age when he or she can talk, think and ask questions. If the mother is not equipped to stand her ground after this point, there is quicksand ahead!

Mothers who do not get due respect from fathers; mothers who take on multiple roles or were working before they became moms; mothers who suffer an inferiority complex due to their lack of certain skills are all easy prey. The quicksand waits to suck them right in. And their self-esteem is the first to drown, followed by discipline, health, and finally family peace.

That said, we shall not go into scenarios. We will address instead the guilt that mothers—however loving, however conscientious—feel. True, all moms live with guilt, it is rubbed into them by society, by the caveman rules that say a woman tends the home and cooks and feeds, while the man hunts, and has his fun!

But some moms feel more guilt than others, for a variety of reasons, some of which are justified. Most are not. Here are some of the latter. And hopefully, it will ease some of the burden that centuries of conditioning implanted in your genes have imposed on your psyche.

No guilt please for working

It is the right of every individual to choose to work. Especially if one is educated, and has used a seat in an educational institution that could have gone to someone more needy or more deserving of it. Then it‘s a moral duty to give back to the society of that knowledge.

Going out to work increases not just the family kitty, it enlarges the mind space, and expands the horizon. It gives a mother a reference point and perspective to view her home differently. And if she does not feel guilt but instils the pride of being a working mother in her children, they grow in perspective too. It is a delicate balancing act to be a working mother, and there are sacrifices involved. But there is no room for guilt.

No guilt please for not working, either

There is no right way or wrong way. Every choice is individual and right. So if you are a stay-at-home mom and choose to manage your home and children full time, feel not the need to say sorry for it. Especially when you meet other moms who have highflying careers, or are doing ‘amazing’ things. The world over, women choose to be full time home people and some give up glittering careers for it. Remember, being a home manager does not mean you are idle, or dull, or ill-informed. All information and interface is possible should you wish it… And you should. Never ever apologise to your family for being ‘ just a housewife’. Because there is no such thing.

No guilt for ‘me time’

I remember when I got a chance to join a production by the Indian People’s Theatre Association. The rehearsals were in Juhu, my office was at CST, and my home in the far end of the Eastern suburbs. Colleagues, friends and older women would look accusingly at me when I talked to them about the fun I was having being part of a production, as the stage had been a thwarted dream till then. How could I leave my son alone for so long, from morning till 10pm, which is when I would finally return? How could I deprive him of my company?

Strangely, it did not make me guilty. I knew my son was secure, my parents were around, and when I did return, we would have a lot of fun enacting our own version of theatre. Perhaps most mothers will see me as unfeeling or a strange kind of mother. I, however, read the wistfulness or envy in the voices and eyes of those who accused me, and thought it better not to build resentment for what being a mother held me back from, and let the dream fulfil itself.

‘Me time’ is important. It revitalises the mind, helps bring balance to one’s routine and brings in a fragrance all its own. So, whether it be a spa weekend, the movie outings, or a hobby group, make time for it. And feel no guilt, moms have a life too! Separate from their kids.

No guilt for saying No

Moms feel guilt, even fear about articulating the word NO. From a generation of moms whose buzz word was the two letter word, moms have evolved into creatures who believe No is a bad word that will swiftly alienate their children from them.

No is a powerful word. It is not a weapon, but a discipline tool that needs to be used with discretion and whenever necessary.

So, it is no to alcohol except under supervision, if at all. It is no to bad behaviour, abusive language, especially with elders and younger kids, it is no to treats if punishment is due for breaking the rules of good conduct.

Saying No does not alienate children. It gives them boundaries, it tells them that wrong can be punished. It is an indicator of the world outside where No is more common than Yes. Mothers who feel guilt over using No, are guilty of spoiling their children, of letting them grow up in a fool’s world that ill prepares them for the reality outside.

And lastly, no guilt on spending money on self

I once travelled with a colleague, who drooled and sighed over shopping to pass on and spend her money on something for her daughter instead. She ended up buying six dresses, and a whole lot of treats for her, and nothing, not even a discounted top for herself. The reason: guilt, disguised as love. Guilt over being away on a trip overseas, even if it was a working trip; guilt over leaving her daughter behind, guilt over spending money on buying herself something when she was being a ‘bad mommy’.

Hmm, I could see her point, but only up to a point. Surely, deprivation or self flagellation does not bring the daughter closer. Some things, like travel on work, are necessary; might as well enjoy the fringe benefits that free time on tours gives you. Guilt spoils it all for everybody.

Guilt, dear mamas, is something best wrapped away in plastic, and buried in the soil, so it will slowly suffocate and die away. Needless conditioned guilt, is something families will be healthier without. So dump it!

A version of this was first published in the May 2013 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

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