I'm noticing how organized new mothers are today. I don't think I ever wrote out a schedule. But then, when it comes to time management, maybe I've never been organized.
I started my new nanny job today. I'm typing as "sweet Caroline" sleeps.
When I got here, mom went over lots of directions; All neatly written down in a white notebook. Shades of my Dad!
We walked into the kitchen to see where things are, conversation morphed easily from breast milk, to glass bottles, to dying. Mom told me about her dad's 6 year illness and recent passing. Her grief is still new and raw. Her tears were as natural as the morning dew (yes, I was up early enough to see and feel the dew) glistening in the sun. She had a story to tell. Her story. I listened. I nodded. I noticed how I felt and empathized, but didn't cry. Her story did not turn into my story. Progress I think.
When the subject turned to nursing homes/care facilities we were both on the same page. Women warriors who know that comfort and care for the ill, infirm, and dying is just as important as it is for maternity patients who bring new life into the world.
I feel comfortable and at home here.