Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“I bet you know a lot you never tell anyone,” he says out of nowhere. “You don’t want to tell parents how to raise their kids. You don’t want to be overbearing.” He’s not asking me questions—he’s making statements. And he’s nailing my approach to nannying. “But you have all this knowledge inside.”
He stops abruptly and turns to me. “I don’t want you to hold back. Guinevere shouldn’t be at a disadvantage because I’m not…a typical caregiver of a child. I want her basic needs catered to. So if you see me doing something you would advise against, or if you see something she needs, I want you to tell me.”
My heart squeezes in my chest like a child’s fist around the string of a balloon. Okay, so he can’t bring himself to say father or daddy yet, but the bond between Dax and Guinevere is starting to grow like a crocus poking its head out of the ground after winter. He worries she’s not going to have what she needs, that he’s not going to be enough. It’s every parent’s concern.
“You’re doing just great,” I say. “Remember, I had two years of school to help me deal with kids. But new parents never have that training. You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to love her and put her first.”
“Love her, huh? Did you read that in New Scientist?” He shakes his head and starts to walk again, pushing the buggy.
I let the little barb roll off my back. Maybe he doesn’t think he loves her now, but he will. He’s starting to.
Dax strikes me as a person who’s previously been used to dealing in logic. And now? As a father? The first whispers of love are beginning to infiltrate his heart. He just doesn’t realize it yet.
“It looks like we’re early,” he says.
There are a couple of players on the pitch, and I’m surprised he hasn’t released the pram and headed over there already. Or maybe I’m not. Maybe he’s having second thoughts about leaving his daughter. Does he have new mum syndrome, where he wants the freedom to do things for himself, but at the same time, doesn’t want to leave his daughter?
“Why don’t we take Guinevere on the swings for the first time?” I suggest.
“The swings?” he says. “Is she old enough? Doesn’t her neck need more support?”
“Not for the saucer swing,” I say, heading over to the round swing with the roped, dish-shaped seat, big enough for five kids to pile onto.
“Is that clean?” he says, grimacing. He’s already worrying about her. How can he think he’s only interested in the science of development?
“She’s in her pramsuit. No part of her will be touching the swing. We can pop a muslin down if it makes you feel better.” I can’t help but smile at his concern.
Dax stops the pram by the swing and I pop on the brake. “It’s good to get into the habit. Even on flat ground.” I’d never say it normally to parents, but Dax has asked me not to hold back. If that’s what he needs, that’s what I’m going to give him. “You want to take her out?” I ask.
“You do it,” he says.
First I pull out a spare muslin from under the pram and place it across the ropes, then I pull back the hood of the pram and scoop Guinevere up. “Are you ready for your first go on the swings?” I ask. “Daddy’s going to push you.” I lay her down so she’s staring at the sky. “Just a little push,” I say.
Dax nudges the swing, his eyes pinned on Guinevere like he’s waiting for her to drop through the ropes at any moment.
“Movement like this helps her develop her balance and her place in world. It stimulates the development of her senses. It might seem like a simple swing, but it’s all science.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off his daughter. “I get it. It’s just…like a dog could come along and bite her at any point. Or someone might have dropped some glass on this thing or—”
“That’s why you’re here. And I’m here. Kids have parents—and nannies—to protect them. And while you’re playing football, I have my dog-fighting gloves and my glass-finding lamp. We’re all good. For now.”
“Does there come a point when you don’t think they’re moments away from death?” he asks.
I let out a laugh that’s been building in me. “It’s hard when they’re little like this. But wait six months, maybe a little more. You’re going to wish she would just lie here like this.” I gaze at Guinevere. She’s not smiling, but she looks so content, gently swinging, watching the bare branches of the trees above her cut out against the blue of the sky. “And then for fifteen years, she won’t sit still. Then it will come full circle and hopefully, if everyone does their job properly, she’ll be gazing at the sky in wonder, thinking about how amazing this world is.”