Page 1 of Swooning for the Summer Manny

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KARIN

Apair of cat ears peeks up from behind the edge of my desk. Not real cat ears, but fabric ones attached to the headband my seven-year-old daughter is wearing.

“Meow?” she says, staying mostly hidden.

“Is a little cat visiting me?” I ask, smiling as I continue to type the email I’m writing.

“Meow,” she says. The cat ears disappear, and I hear her crawl around the perimeter of my desk. Then she’s beneath my desk, rubbing up against my legs while she performs her best purr.

“What a nice little cat,” I say, finishing up the email and hitting send. As the message disappears from my screen, I reach down under my desk. “I wonder if she’s ticklish.”

Amelia squeals with high-pitched giggles as I tickle her. She pops up from beneath my desk and attacks me, her tiny hands dancing across my sides. We laugh together as I pull her into my lap.

“Are you done with work yet, Mom?” she asks impatiently.

“Not quite. I’m sorry.”

“I want to go to the park. I need to finish counting the trees.”

“I know, honey. But we can’t go right now.” I glance at the time on my computer. “Also, we’re going to have a visitor in about an hour, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember.” Amelia sighs and slides off my lap. “I’m going to play in my room.”

Guilt gnaws at me as I watch my daughter trudge out of my office. If it was up to me, I’d drop everything and take her to the park for the rest of the afternoon. But I can’t. I have multiple real estate clients who are relying on me to submit offers and negotiate deals on their behalf.

Eight years ago, when I made the decision to become a mom all on my own, I knew it was going to be tough. Parenthood is hard enough with two people raising a kid; doing it all on my own kind of felt like a crazy choice to willingly make. But I knew without a doubt that I wanted to have a child, and I didn’t want to keep waiting around for the right man to have one with.

And so I made the doctor’s appointment. I went through the donor selection process. I dealt with the morning sickness, the bloating, the leg cramps, the indigestion. I pushed through the excruciating pain of labor. And then she was finally here, my sweet little Amelia, all wrinkly and wailing and perfect.

For these first seven years of her life, I’ve made it work. I’ve given her the best life I can while also working full-time. But this summer is different than the previous ones. Between summer camp, swimming lessons, and art classes, the next few months of Amelia’s life are absolutely jam-packed. And with the local housing market the way it is right now, I’m swamped with work.

So we need help. Just for the summer. That’s why I put an ad in the paper. And in an hour, a potential nanny is coming over to interview for the position.

Or, I should say, a potential manny.

I was hesitant at first when a man called asking about the position. I almost made up an excuse to hang up. But then he told me his name—Ryan—and how experienced he was. His voice was so warm and friendly over the phone, and I just had a good feeling about him. I knew I needed to at least give him a chance.

It also helped, of course, that the background check I ran on him came back clean.

I hear a loud thump above me, followed by another one. Raising an eyebrow, I get up from my desk and step out of my home office.

“Amelia?” I call out. “What are you doing up there, sweetie?”

There’s a pause, then: “Nothing.”

“Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom! Everything’s cop-a-cetic!”

I shake my head, smiling at my daughter’s enunciation of her current favorite word. Whether it’s adding an unconventional word to her vocabulary, counting trees in the park, or wearing cat ears for days on end, Amelia is always delightfully her quirky self.

When I reach Amelia’s bedroom, she’s sitting on the floor, playing with her action figures. She peers up at me with an innocent smile as I look around her room, trying to figure out what she was just doing.

“Were you jumping off your bed?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I was certainly not jumping off my bed.”

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