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F
atima worked
in a house of light. She showed mearound the apartment as if it were her own, pointing outthe four bathrooms, the formal dining room, the masterbedroom suite. I told her that the family I worked for lived in adark railroad apartment, that Mia’s crib was shoved in a cornerof her parents’ bedroom, up against the window where the streetnoise was loudest. In the apartment where Fatima worked, wewatched the sun pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.Perched up on the twenty-third floor, we took in sweeping views of the Hudson River and Upper Manhattan.After the children’s music class one day,Fatima had unexpect-edly invited me on a play date with Theo,who was the same age asMia. Since then,she had been after me to “train”Mia better. Shedisapproved of a fourteen-month-old sucking her thumb,of theway she ran through the classroom and climbed on chairs. “She’shyper,”she observed. “But it’s not your fault. You don’t know whatthe woman who took care of her before you did.She probably taught her bad things.”
introduction
 
We went into the kitchen and Fatima got started on lunch. Herbracelets rang as she cooked. Fatima was a fifty-year-old Pakistaniwoman with elegant cheekbones,long black hair, and a gold studin her nose. She had moved to the United States in
1991
with herchildren and husband,who was a lawyer in Pakistan. Her childrendid well here;one was in law school,another was on full scholar-ship at a business school in Boston. One drove a Lexus,the otherhad just bought an Acura.Fatima had been a nanny for a decade,and she saw right away that I was new at the job. I admitted that caring for Mia was only my second job as a nanny,after a brief stint caring for twelve-year-old twins,and I’d only been with her for two months. Fatima tookme under her wing, gave me advice, asked me how much I made,and told me to ask for more
—
I was white and American-born,after all.The children went off into separate corners of the living room,immersed in their own toys and ignoring each other. When lunchwas ready,Fatima slipped Theo into his highchair. I let Mia play,but once she saw Theo,she ran over to me and I pulled her up tomy lap to feed her from the table. We were all quiet as the eatingbegan and then I heard Fatima cooing.“Who’s your mommy? Who’s your mommy?”she asked Theo,pointing to herself as she smiled. I stopped feeding Mia and stared.Fatima laughed at the stunned expression on my face. “His motherdoesn’t like it when I say that. But I tell her it’s okay. I’m Theo’sdaytime mommy,and she’s his nighttime mommy.”In my early thirties,before I had children of my own,I left my full-time office job and dove headfirst into the nanny world. My planwas to find work for one year that would enable me to pay my billsbut leave me enough time,as an MFA graduate,to finally do my 
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tasha blaine
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