Earlier this week I listened to an interview with a famous woman, during which she discussed all the trials and tribulations of being a working mum. She detailed all the ways it was difficult, and talked about how she makes it work. I sat there, furious and aghast at the entire thing, because what she didn’t do was admit that the real way she makes it work is by having a nanny. I know that she has a nanny, because she used the same one who helped me out with my daughter when she was a very small baby.
An entire interview, largely about all the ways that she’s managed to balance a career and a family, and not once does she acknowledge that the most integral part of the whole thing is having someone to pick up the slack.
Personally I’ve always been a pretty open book. I’ll talk about my sex life, my finances, all the times I’ve been fired, very openly and very happily. But the thing I’ve encountered the most shock about is my transparency about having had nannies.
I went back to work when my daughter was five weeks old. I took her with me, trekking around London to various TV studios, writing articles with her in a sling, trying to finish a novel during nap times.
That was my choice (well, sort of, I was about to become a single parent and I had bills to pay). From the outside I think it probably looked like I was doing something incredibly impressive. In reality, it was a bit of a mania and I wish I’d been able to slow down and enjoy that time. But either way, the real reason it was possible is because twice a week I had a night nanny.
Night nannies are balm for the soul. They arrive at your house, usually at about 9pm, and they take everything off your shoulders. You retreat into your bedroom and they sleep in the room with your baby, either bottle feeding them or bringing them to you to breastfeed when needed.
Mine was reassuring, smart, direct and yet gentle. She taught me how to look after my daughter, pointed out when I was doing things wrong. She very slowly coaxed my daughter into a little bit of a routine. I got two 10-hour nights of sleep per week, which enabled me to do everything else.
Later, when my daughter was six months old and our night nanny was a dim and distant memory, I hired a day time nanny who had her between 8am and 2pm and again, the moment she arrived into our lives I became a better and happier person.
The house was cleaner, the clothes were on the drying rack an hour after they were washed, not slightly damp smelling two days later. My daughter loved her, and they went to classes and playgroups with other children while I wrote screenplays, pilots, articles and plays.
When I was ill, I could sleep. I had time to go to therapy, do a skincare regime, and have a long hot shower. My life was transformed by having high-quality, regular child care because it gave me time to work, but also because it gave me a few hours a week to be selfish. And as a result, I started to enjoy professional success when my baby wasn’t even a year old.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand why women don’t want to advertise having help. I encounter judgement over it time and time again. I hear all the “I could never let a stranger take care of my baby” and “I just can’t imagine missing this time with my child” comments and, my God do they hurt. The implication that you love your child less because you use paid childcare is agonising. But it doesn’t excuse lying by omission about how you make it work.
The reason that famous women are able to get back to work, look fantastic, quickly take their bodies back to their pre-pregnancy size and manage a date night with their partners is because they are (and I don’t know of any exceptions, though I’m sure there are some) paying for all of that to be possible.
I’m sure that some people would argue that you don’t owe anyone an explanation about your parenting, and that’s true, unless you’re sharing every other aspect of your life and deliberately leaving the childcare out.
Every time a woman discusses her personal juggle, how she makes parenting and work work, and she doesn’t admit to paying for childcare, all she’s doing is perpetuating the idea that women have 50 hours in the day and are capable of being in two places at the same time.
The pretense of being a working mother with no help is make believe, and it doesn’t bear up under any scrutiny at all. But even though it’s a bit like believing in fairies, it’s still utterly toxic.
Omitting the truth about having a nanny creates a false narrative about what is possible and it makes other people feel worse. It implies that childcare is something to be ashamed of, some kind of dirty secret. And I can just about forgive that selfishness in non-famous women, but from women – especially ones whose brands are tied to their parenting – it’s so staggeringly selfish that it’s unforgivable.
