The kid lost out to her nanny's textmate. Yaya J, feeling perhaps that there is much more excitement in a lovelife than in running after a terrible two, left five days ago. I didn't hold her back. Sigh. After all, there are some things that a 17-year-old should learn on her own.
Pending the arrival of the new yaya, I am the hands-down substitute. Which means no work (what joy!!!), limited online hours and an endless stock of patience, patience and energy.
The five days, of course, have been a breeze. The kid has been highly entertaining, and I have none of the pressures of the workplace (thank God for "sleep" mode, and the fact that the new office has no phone lines, yet). But any hopes of turning Stay-at-Home Mom will remain just that: hope.
Five days later, I have bad posture, a pair of Salonpas plastered on the lower back, a tub of Biofreeze on the ready and I am in danger of being a mefenamic-acid-popping Momma.
The spirit may be (more than) willing. But, alas, the back is weak.