Monday, April 30, 2012

Women's Work is Not Really Work

I'm sitting this morning with my family day carer "Shazza". She takes care of my 18 month old daughter four days a week while I work and study.

A father dropping his daughter off sighs delightedly as the picture of domesticity presented by Shazza sitting in her lounge room surrounded by small kidlets.

"The women stay home while us men go out to earn the money, hey," he comments. Shazza's husband laughs as the men groan about working out in the rain. And admittedly, I don't know any woman that would put up with working in the rain all day.
But I also don't know any man who would be pleased to stay home, stuck, changing over 30 nappies a day for five under fives, all day every day.

I also don't know any man that would be pleased his partner thought she was earning the money while he provided a support role. Because I know this family, and I know that Shazza's income is their bread and butter. Raking in over $1000 a week, their family relies on her childcare work which involves not just childcare but after hours cleaning, meal preparation, planning, activities, education, client relations and paperwork.

So Shazza, who barely has time to change into her tracksuit every morning before her first little charges run through her door and into her arms, merely laughs graciously at this misinformed comment. But I seethe, throwing the father a dirty look and wonder if we'll ever get to a point where childcare is understood to be one of the most important, or even just the most taxing, jobs in the world.

Here is more reading on how misogyny has become an effortless part of our everyday lexicon.

OK so I'm signing off now because tonight I am completing packing for an extended family wedding in Bali. I have spent the past 10 days caring for a very ill child with hand-foot-mouth disease covered in blisters and waking around the clock. After my husband returned last night from Thailand, I then spent the next hours preparing meals and packing for my daughter so she will be fed and clothed while I'm gone. Husband is staying behind with her as we agreed taking her on another international trip is a touch too close to insanity. And we're not willing to go there again.

More posts from The Nanny's Dead when I return. Hopefully I'll procure a nanny in Bali while I'm there. Actually that's an excellent idea.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Pregnant In Heels

Rosie Pope, WTF?
I watch a lot of television. This only started happening about 18m + 9m ago, when I became less mobile with a placenta and foetus inside me, swollen legs, and climaxing blood pressure making me feel like I weighed over 100 kilos. Oh wait, I did. Then, as is usually the case during a uncomplicated pregnancy, the huge belly transformed ineluctably into an alien baby.

Contrary to my hopes and desires, I became even less mobile, with obesity and major surgery recovery, and a four kilo baby to lug around. Add breastfeeding to the pile and I became a TV addict.

I turned to TV as my lifeline and my connection to the outside world. And baby, did she deliver. I ploughed through the entire 1st, 2nd and 3rd series of Teen Mom and 16 and Pregnant, getting parenting tips and pitfalls from Farrah and Amber, learning how to deflect child service investigators and how to recover from breast enlargement surgery with a two year old. the extra expert support from Dr Drew was invaluable.

I was right there with Bentley's toilet training, Leah's parental separation confusion and Caitlin's "Woops I gave my baby away to a complete stranger and now I'll never see her again". I even got right into the second series featuring the hipster Chelsea, off her face Jenelle, workaholic Kailyn and southern belle of disabled twins Leah before getting a serious case of indigestion.

I then consumed entire series of old faves Californication, Dexter, the new Homeland, Revenge (patriotic to Rabbit Proof Phillip Noyce to the end) and Covert Affairs and ending up with half unfinished True Blood and Pregnant in Heels (PIH).

Pregnant in Heels stopped me in my obese tracks.

WTF is a Maternity Concierge? Who are these women? And where on earth did Rosie Pope, God bless her, pick up that bizarre bastardised accent?

And why does every chick show require a gay, preferably black, trickster?

Before exposure to PIH I thought women who had never cleaned, women who insisted on two nannies per baby and women who swore they would never change their new baby's nappy were urban myths. Or, fantasies. My fantasy, to be precise.

Then, lo and behold, I discover entire neighbourhoods in a small, anthropologically distinct island in the Atlantic are packed with women who never smell or even see their own baby's shit. You should have heard my whining. My husband was ready to pack me off to the meat packers district or Noho in an abattoir refuse box.

We watch reality TV to sneak into other people's lives. But watching PIH I was blasted into several truly bizarre scenarios every episode that made Jersey Shore and Real Housewives look like the nightly news. Or a mild case of chlamydia compared to the major herpes outbreak that was PIH.

Suffice to say, it had me on the edge of my seat and I'd give PIH a rating of 9/10 for pure madness. Only in America? I hope not! Give me two nannies any day!


Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Is Having a Baby a Good Investment?

Good value or waste of money?
Since we live in economic times, I thought I should do what money minded women all over Australia are doing: an economic analysis on the potential Return on Investment of Children.

Because we are basically the first generation to carefully control our reproduction. Women from 1970 - 2000 do not count as they, the Gen X-er's, basically forgot to have kids. In other words, women up to 1970 did not have access to reliable contraception so had to deal with any pregnancies as and when they came. Abortion in Australia only became accessible in the late 60s, so it has been a very short time indeed that women have had any control over if they have children.

Women who took up the Pill enthusiastically post invention regarded it with, understandably, such open admiration and gratitude that they forgot to stop taking it and suddenly, woops, 40th birthday and bye bye baby.

These Xers regarded babies with open suspicion, and were too chuffed with their corporate and career success to stop and smell the roses. Their next Beemer and Dior suit were more tantalising than screaming babies. What WERE they thinking?

So I am in the vanguard of Women Actually Choosing To Breed, Just For The Hell Of It. And FYI, I'm a Gen X / Y "straddler" - born in 1978. Being a straddler is quite fun.

While we, who actually chose to have a baby rather than having it thrust upon us, don't (yet) have an army of nannies to do the job for us, there are still plenty of resources in our toolkit.

Television is the first and most obvious. There are kids my age who grew up on Sesame Street, and this gave them a world class education complemented by expert skills in reading texts and critical thought. Most of them, unsurprisingly, work in high level media positions and their factory-working mums and dads are breathing sighs of relief that not being around for their kids' early years didn't seem to harm them.

Today we have not only the traditional TV shows like Sesame Street and Playschool, we have CeeBeebies on all day with delights such as In The Night Garden, and we have unlimited shows to download. Dora and The Wiggles get the most airplay at our house.

Dora has taught my daughter Spanish words and how to share. When my four year old niece met kids on holiday in Spain she understood that not only did they not speak English, but she could have a basic conversation in Spanish - thanks to Dora. Dora has better language lessons than Sesame Street according to a recent Harvard study - challenging my old-school mum in her assumptions that modern animations are a load of junk (her words not mine).

I credit the excellent Brainy Baby series with teaching my daughter the alphabet before 18 months, and saving me many trips to playgroup, because she's surrounded by friends and animals all day (when she's not at daycare). Our big screen TV makes it look like the kids are life size, so that saves mummy an awful lot of time and expense in silly excursions she'll never remember.

Before I wax lyrical too much about TV, I will point out there are other great tools for raising your kids cheaply by other people - the park, the beach and childcare are also excellent options.

We'll revisit this topic further down the track because it deserves an extensive and thorough analysis. I just wanted to introduce the concept by pointing out that while babies seem a terrible investment at face value, you can easily increase their ROI by using TV to raise them and training them to work from an early age.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Like a Thief in the Night

Rihanna is the only girl this sexy.
Isn't this all any woman wants? Like Rhianna asks, to be entered like a "thief in the night"?
Or, as her next line goes, does the modern woman want to be "Held Like A Pillow"?
Are these two desires mutually opposing, or happily complementary? Isn't this all anyone really wants? To feel like "the only girl in the world" and for you to "last all night"?

And where on earth are they living for Drake to suggest he can do things to her in 20 minutes while waiting for the traffic: where on earth does the city traffic take 20 minutes to clear? Hobart? They clearly aren't in Sydney where the traffic takes 2 hours to clear and the radio would not be considered appropriate foreplay, not with Kyle Sandilands at large.

On a darker note, according to pop culturalist Dr Carr-Gregg, watching film clips by that "skank" Rihanna or the Pussycat dolls will lower a girl's self esteem markedly. This is shocking to me, because when i watch Rihanna, usually at the gym, I feel extremely joyful and proud. I see a strong powerful woman. I see a woman in charge of her own sexuality. I mean, no one was out there says how dangerous Borat was to young bois sense of self esteem, were they? 

Or more seriously, noone says the sexiness of Kanye and Neyo in film clips is causing an crises in Our Young Men. No. Noone said that. Because it's patently untrue. I'm sure if boys look up and see Kanye cavorting around with his gals they probably think good on him, and I hope I get to be like that one day. Or more likely, what a wanker.

It's the same for girls.
When I see Rhianna performing a lap dance for a fan I think wow, she's fantastic, what a great dancer. And her voice is out of this world. I actually think she's the most talented female vocalist of our era. Maybe I also think "it would be nice to be that girl she's dancing with". But does my self esteem take a shot? No. No, it does not.

I am a grown woman, and these film clips are meant for me. Not for ten year olds and I admit they are rather pornographic. I guess it
would be a bit exciting to see Rhianna give a lap dance if you were only 12. But upsetting? Confidence shattering? Causing you to start starving yourself? I hope not! I'll be using clips as a tool for teaching my daughter how to dance, or how to make a short film, as they should be used.

Dr Carr-Gregg believes increases in eating disorders, anxiety and depression in teenage girls are linked to raunch culture. I'd say it's linked to growing up in a cultural vacuum like the northern beaches of Sydney, but that's just me...

Let Me Stop Right Here

I don't know why men bother with local girls when they can get everything they ever wished for and more abroad. And there are just so many men in Australia with a heart of gold. So many I married a Canadian. To be fair, she's an excellent writer with evocative descriptions, and with hobbies including collecting photos of herself, life could never be boring! Enjoy:
How are you doing and how is your day going? I am Kay Muna, Am looking for a trustworthy man who believes in true love,I am single never been married before,I am looking for a mature man who can understand life with me .I am 28Years old,5.8ft tall. and 58kg.Blond hair,Blue eye and milky white skin and big natural breasts,I don't smoke and i don't drink alcoholic.I don't have kids. 

I am a happy single lady looking for a wonderful man out there .I am 
looking to relocate someday.I really need someone to make me believe in the right way of life .I am into music and i do lots of coordinating job with a charity firm down here .

I love doing my best .I am looking forward to meet 
someone with a heart of gold.I am the open-heated girl who likes to take everything that life can offer but to give in return as well! I am active and enthusiastic, I am cheerful and I treat people just I want them to treat me. I 
am attentive and caring, I need to love and to be loved, to bring my future man happiness and joy. 

I am the open-heated girl who likes to take everything 
that life can offer but to give in return as well! I am active and enthusiastic, I am cheerful and I treat people just I want them to treat me. I am attentive and caring, I need to love and to be loved, to bring my future man happiness and 
joy. I don't like to sit on one place and I am dreaming of strong and friendly family.I love nature very much and I think that to live surrounded by nature is something wonderful. I enjoy music and dancing. I love to take photos of myself which I collect, let me stop right here.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Nanny Economy

I've never smiled when my kid wrecks my work
I should elaborate on the title of this blog. For me, The Nanny's Dead, not because I don't want one, not because I killed her, but because in my part of the world they cost $200USD per day. So for now, I spend $80pd on childcare.

If it is true that women are starting to out-earn men, and have out-educated men for over a decade, it might be about time for Australia to admit it needs nannies, and at least extend any childcare benefits to nannies.

Everyone thought it was amazing that we got paid maternity leave a year ago, but the $10,000 payment was not really aimed at high earning women and kind of came about 20 years too late. And was rounded off with a litany of insults against women not staying at home and Doing the Best By Their Children. A lot of people in 2012 Australia think that if a woman chooses to have children she has to pay for them - never mind the benefits of raising children. We might as well import all our food (ala Singapore) and import all our future generations.

Better late than never, but let's really get up to speed. Let's look around to see what the rest of the world are doing. There's Canada's thriving nanny economy, which rewards nannies for three years service with residency. I am quite intimate with this particular quirk as my husband's first wife was a Slovakian who had gained Canadian citizenship after working as a nanny for a few years. That's a pretty cool bonus for the working women of Canada. I understand Switzerland and several other countries have a nanny migration system.

I would love to have a Cambodian or Thai nanny but for me to even consider this I must be prepared to pay a minimum wage of $50,000 a year for her to get a 457 visa to Australia.

Is this not a little ridiculous? There are thousands of women in Australia who really want a nanny but don't have a spare $1000pw lying around and are not sure about the visa issues around employing a backpacker. My understanding is you must ensure she leaves your employ, or the country, after less than 12 months.

Which doesn't give you much time to get to know the Nanny. Which would be particularly unfortunate, points out my husband, if she were a hot Swedish blonde.

Friday, April 13, 2012

In Defence of the Kardashians


Khloe is the funniest...
When I started watching the Kardashian family in action five years ago, I saw a funny, daggy bunch of sisters fighting over trivial things. They reminded me of my family. 

I come from a family of four girls. Like the Kardashians we grew up yelling at, and jumping on, each other in a big house with broken doors. Like the Kardashians’ mum, my mum is conservative Catholic. And like the Kardashian father, an Armenian, my father’s grandparents come from neighbouring Georgia. I like to think there’s a level of warmth, bossiness and female dominance shared by families from this part of the world.

I just don’t get why the world hates these sisters. They are funny, smart and experts of PR. Major charges levelled against them are that they are spoilt, trashy, cheap, sexually promiscuous (or even "reckless"!) and talentless. That Kim’s only claim to fame is a deliberately leaked sex video. So why do they command so much attention, with a hit TV series going into its seventh season with several spin offs, various successful product lines and more branding kudos than Richard Branson?

I think they are fabulous role models and would be very proud for my daughter to turn out like any of them, but especially my favourite, Khloe. I love her to pieces, from her curves in fur PETA campaign to constantly fighting with her mum, her gorgeous husband Lamar, and almost getting fired in her Miami radio DJ job where she shone as the very talented comedian she is.

Khloe has more vagina jokes up her sleeve than Tina Fey, more personality, and more cheek than any other person famous for being funny. She also puts Kourtney's dodgy babydaddy Scott in his place and has impeccable judgement in character. The episode where she went to anger management was gold. So leave her, and the clan, alone.

We live in a world where most women are famous for their looks alone, so why is it such a crime the Kardashians are not only beautiful but also smart, rude, funny, loyal and business minded? If only some of those vapid vacant Victoria’s Secret angels could claim half as much talent as the sisters.

I just love how their pushy stage mom Kris acts all wide-eyed and innocent while coercing them into Girls Gone Wild and Playboy shoots. I love how she pretends to protect her daughters while pushing her teen model daughter into bikinis for some smoky eyed shoots. If my daughter were as sexy as hers I would be doing the same, and putting the money into her college fund. Or my entertainment fund...

And I really loved how when Rob thought he had made a scary latino ex, Rosa, pregnant he was very honorable in his behavior even while his mum and sisters were freaking out.

If nothing else, the TV series gives an excellent insight into how to get along as a family even when technically you should be at each other’s throats. Like I said, it’s a lot like my family, and I’m proud that both my rapidly enlarging family and the Kardashians can all sit around a table at the end of the day and laugh. Because that’s what it’s all about.

Now that it looks like Kim and my favorite contemporary musician Kanye will be having a baby in about eleven months I'll be watching them more closely as this is one celebrity sprog I'd love see...

The Best Brothel in Sydney


As you drive over the Sydney Harbor Bridge and head to the leafy north shore where I live, you pass an industrial area known as Artarmon which has the most brothels per square metre in Australia.

My first question is: who are going to these brothels? What demographic? Local men on their way home? Your husband?

According to a frequent visitor to Sydney’s many brothels, Hugo (not his real name), the best brothel in the city is Amanda Heavens. “Petit Aroma might be full of hot chicks but they don’t do anything. They’re all dud roots who just lie there. Amanda Heavens has older women, who are willing to really go the extra mile.” To get the best value for his dollar, he goes early because he wants to be the first customer, and he gets older women he says are horny and ready to slather him with affection. He likes to book a double session to really give himself a treat. Good for Hugo.

My husband is on his way next week to Bangkok for the first time, a city I know well after living there for three years in my 20s. A city I know and love, and a city I know offering the best in rub and tug and some amazing variety on the fantasy front. I tell me husband I don’t really mind if he’s curious, to go ahead and try (a rub, that is), but that maybe I’m just saying that because I know he would never go to a sex worker.

We discuss this, laughing at the thought of him doing this. I’d feel sorry for you. “You’d be really nervous and overwhelmed,” I say. "Like a shy schoolboy". He said he’d never do it, unless it was in an ultimate fantasy situation, where the girl was some unattainable distant model goddess and the atmosphere very high class. Somehow I doubt he’ll be finding that among the curling pink sticky lino and synthetic dividing curtains of Bangkok. I found myself accidentally in several brothels in Bangkok and it wasn't classy.

We discuss the sex workers in our local neighbourhood. Hugo says one of his favourites is a legal secretary who is bored at work and enjoys both the frequent sex and the extra income on the side. I support this, saying a lot of local girls in Brookvale are single professional women like doctors and lawyers who can kill two birds with one stone by getting sex and money for a night’s work. Saves a trip out.

We look up DA approvals for a nearby brothel and laugh at the claims. Arguments focus on the undesirables coming to the area, compromising safety and security. Counter arguments claim behaviour of patrons at brothels is fine and patrons “should be accepted as members of the community. There is no evidence brothels are associated with drug and crime. Development applications cannot be held back just because people do not like brothels".  The areas of Sydney in discussion in the two cases are Martyn v Hornsby Shire and Zhang vs. Ashfield. I would like to point out gently that both these shopping centres are already rather rough at the edges and agree that brothels continue to be treated unfavorably compared to other businesses

A few years ago Sydney City Council had to grapple with a new word that popped up on their documents: “suckatorium”. To address the ins and outs of suckatoriums, a favourite topic of conversation between my husband and I, will require a dedicated post. Another post will discuss the merits of charging by the hour, like in Sydney, or charging by ejaculate, as in parts of Greece and Las Vegas.

It is my husband who passes on this jewel: the "six star brothel" The Boardroom has a frequent knockers card, which covers the tenth visit to the room free. Just like a cafe. If only tired mummies could have brothels dedicated just to us. Oh wait – we do, they’re called beauty salons. Give me a brothel any day.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

On Being a Fat Chick

Snooki losing weight
I have been fat, curvy, chubby, voluptuous, a cakelover, Rubenesque, rounded and plain obese for most of my life. The thing is, I think I look great and have never considered using my appearance to my advantage. And I think that should end.

Everywhere I look I see fat chicks banging on about how life is as a fat chick, and skinny chicks bemoaning the fact they have no ass. It’s the pet topic of the underweight Ms Mamamia Mia Freedman, who can be found in most media outlets harping on about body image and promoting fat chicks in magazines.

Being fat made that fat chick from The View famous. Khloe Kardashian got instant street cred for “celebrating body diversity” in her fur shoot. And Jersey Shore’s Snooki gained an overnight fan base from flashing her rapidly shrinking ass. The retro Fat Chicks in Party Hats was one of my first favorite websites when I was a teenager.

Fashion editors and designers glance up from their strips of silk and lines of coke long enough to say “hey we’re not cutting cloth for fat chicks”, Anna Wintour doesn’t bat an eyelid (but does she ever, even during bukaki?), and the world keeps on turning, a world where chubby girls are treated like dogs every day of their school life until they become mums and everyone urges them to celebrate their curves.

But while we’re all pretending that fat chicks are the bomb, it’s about time I started making a living from my enlarged moneymaker. I can’t help it that I love chocolate. It’s a permanent fixture in my life. Last week over easter I ate over a kilo of chocolate and I really don’t care what it does for my already oversized curves. When I wasn’t married, I knew if I didn’t find a husband in Australia, where men drive utes with “no fat chicks” bumper stickers, I’d go to the USA where the guys adore curves.

The only downside of being fat – especially the year I became a mother and sat in the obese category for quite some time – were those nasty Kmart knits. Oh and the dirty looks I get at the gym. But because I go to the beach 300 days a year and enjoy slurrying around in my black lyrca uniform, or nothing at all, clothes generally aren’t an issue for me. And dirty looks are something I got used to a long time ago.

So here you have it: moi, fat mamma famous for being fat? Nice to meet you.

Why Nice is the New Grey


PND caused by boring mums
I’m sitting in playgroup with a bunch of bored looking mums. Little Max is throwing cookies up in the air and Cooper’s crushing them under his toddler sneakers. My daughter runs into the fray grabbing for someone else’s treats.

“Oh your daughter's eating off the floor” says one mum to me “Oh, she does that all the time” I say flashing what I hope is a disarming and friendly smile. Everyone turns to look at my 18 month old licking crumbs off the ground. I roll my eyes internally at the constant pressure of judgement that came down on me like a grey UNHCR issue refugee blanket since I did the last thing I remember I wasn't judged for: had sex without a condom and deliberately conceived a child. The judgement is hard and fast. She's too cold, says a granny at the supermarket. She needs more fencing, says my neighbour as he watches her climbing our deck. Hungry, tired, too thin, too fat, no shoes, no manners, too loud, too immature, too cheap. And only just turned one year old.

A bit later on a mother I faintly know frumps in with her baby and two year old looking frayed at the edges. I haven’t seen her for two weeks and we discuss how she probably has PND, as did I at the six month stage, as would anyone who hasn’t slept more than four hours in six months.

She also confesses to not LOVING the whole baby stage, which I can more than relate to. Actually she says her husband wanted kids more than her, but now that they're here he's not really all that involved. It's a common story you hear. Babies are a LOT of work and an awful lot of guys understandably make themselves scarce, leaving their partners alone to mop up the milk, wee and tears.

Anyone who gets off being elbow deep in things I thought only S&M mistresses had to deal with has a conflict of interest. And all six month olds I've met fail to say thank you mum, thanks for changing and feeding me seven times a day and making sure my day is filled with an interesting age appropriate but not overstimulating variety of activities! Thank you for letting me take over your life like a virus!

It’s all just so boring sometimes, just the same drudgery, I console. She agrees. And it’s hard to find other mums who feel the same way, I say and she nods vigorously. “What are they all doing, pushing their kids in designer prams and sashaying from coffee date to manicure??” she cries.

“And they’re all so NIIICE” I say. “I KNOW! Is anyone around here not boring?” We sadly shake our heads at the nice but boring women surrounding us – at playgroup, the gym, the park, the beach, library story time and the shops. No wonder Jessica Rowe got depressed - and she had a two Nannies for the morning and the evening according to her latest book. So if even two nannies can't protect you from PND, what can? Ecstasy?

Babies are f-ed, I say. They wreck your lives and make once sexy women into yabbering zombies. The boredom and loneliness of early unsupported motherhood can wreak havoc with even the most upbeat mum's temperament. We both agree, then get back to pouring milk and solids down our respective children’s mouths.

And the Rest of You can go F Yourselves.

She cooks and cleans too
No seriously. So I’m sitting at dinner opposite an ex who didn’t have children with me four years ago. Luckily. Another asshole who now has zero current knowledge of what a csection, torn vag or the inside of a maternity ward looks like (uterine purple walls), let alone a baby slathered in vomit or a toddler stashing its own shit in the sofa.

 He asks me, having not seen me for two years, what I’ve been doing. Um, you know, I have an 18 month old, I say. Yes he says, but what else? Well, I could explain I’ve almost finished a grad dip, I worked briefly as a copywriter for a marketing company before they silently shafted me, and how I can’t seem to snare a part time job.

 But what I really should say is I’ve been to the beach with my toddler twice a day for the past 500 days of her life, to the library 400 times, to the Red Cross toy/op shop 300 times. I’ve cleaned shit off the walls and cot twice, been covered in every possible body fluid in unusual places, sometimes all at once.

That in the two years since he’s seen me, I gave her a spine, a heart and eyeballs, got married in Vegas, fed her vicariously through the womb (mostly not champagne), then fed her nonstop from breast to bottle to goopy rice and pear to toast and weetbix to steak. That it’s an fing triumph when I look up and see her healthy rosy face peering across the table at me, alive, well and alert.

 So this asshole who grew up in Singapore says: You have a nanny right? No I choke, no one in Australia has a nanny. Well, maybe your terrace-dwelling-IVF-twin-spawning-“William/Emily-or-Ruby/Imogene”-Montessori-patronising-friends in the inner west have nannies. Or the TV anchor woman. But not me.

 Now that I am a member of the secret world of mummies, the mysterious world of cafes and playgroups inhabited by designer prams, smart phones, heavily made-up mumazons or trakkie slugging slummy mummies, I am privy to a shocking revelation: Australian women really are doing it all. And it sucks.

Nowhere else in history have millions of women been forced to throw aside their postgrad degrees and six figure salaries, get shafted by midwives and insurance companies alike and lose their body and identity in such a sudden fashion as Australia circa 2012. And they think PND is caused by having a baby.

 Here’s the clincher: their new life of constant harassment and wiping little bums ten times a day is invisible, unnumerated and unsupported by either husband or grandma (who are either working full time to pay off the seven figure mortgage or busy abroad). It is certainly not supported by a thriving nanny economy they may simply tap into for a wealth of affordable talent.

 So when this ex boyfriend suggests I just get a nanny I want to reach across the table and slap him. He also suggests I “suck it up princess” and "get used to being a mum" in reference to my whinge about being booted out of hospital three days after major surgery and noone to take care of me. Ot the new baby.

If this attitude it any indication of Australia’s general feelings towards nannies then I really am stuck up shit creek without a nanny for the foreseeable future.