For 1 and a half month, I entered the skin of Great Nanny. Finally not, not really. I differ from Great Nanny on several points:

• I have no ruler's suit SM, and no glasses which go with
• I am less old
• I am prettier (even MUCH MORE pretty)
• I have not need to punish nor to threaten, the children make NO stupidity and NO fad (no, you do not dream. On the contrary, when the parents are there, it is shouting, tears and rolling down) (I think that I must have a particular aura)
• I have no tendinite of the finger who makes me keep the index to the guard to you

It is necessary to know that I had the right to a lot of two kids (for the price of one): Fair-haired girl, 3 years old, and Gerbeur (we will come back on the origin of this nickname farther), 3 months.

First day, throw dress rehearsal into a panic: I have never changed layer. How am I going to make? On top of that, I thought that Gerbeur was sick (but not, in fact it is normal colour / texture for a baby, shame). Finally I succeeded.

Since, I developed quasi supernatural powers: I arrive, by having Gerbeur in an arm (7 kilogrammes the monster), to put Fair-haired girl on the chair, to take to her out a stewed fruit, to open the lid (try to see, at a hand, you will see if it is easy) and to give him a small spoon in bonus (although she supports that sisisisi, she has the right to eat the stewed fruit with fingers) (at the time when I have says they will ask mom , she has of a decided blow that otherwise, it is possible to take a spoon and then nothing to mom is said ).

Everything went for the best to the best of the worlds, I controlled siesta, history, meal, nursing bottle, layer, baths, nursery school, very in an offhand manner, ease, speed, effectiveness, and without fad, tears, shouting or assimilated.

I had to be too much in confidence, Gerbeur decided to delay me feet on earth: he decided, after a nursing bottle, that it would be opportune to vomit. But attention, small vomit, I speak about a milk geyser (how can a baby of this size have so much milk in the belly and cast it with such pressure?). On my silk dress. Yes, the ONLY day when I put old tshirt, I was 3 litres of vomit in the face. And there, shame on me, my first thought was oh not the poor baby , but WHORE MY DRESS .

(Sensitive souls, reassure yourselves, the dress goes well, it went to emergency, its state was serious but stable, and finally she went out of the coma)

I thought to have therefore included what was a baby who makes shit . That nenni. I had to experiment

THE BABY SICK MAN.

(tremble all)

Yes, the baby with an otitis, which has already had its dose of doliprane (let us note that I attained the level 31, since I have aquis "presumable" competence), but that still feels pain, and that, over 10 h of work, sleeps 30 minutes. He makes what the rest of time? Well he mourns the naze. Concept to suffer in silence , him connait not. And there, nothing can stop him: lullaby, bed, music, porterage doubles one, nursing bottle, none of my weapon attained it no more than 4 seconds.

At the end of the day, I was in 2 fingers to build him in a wall to put him in microwaves to rock him against the closed window to cry. Besides this must be written on my forehead, the daddy said to me by coming back only by seeing my head ouh, the day has no easy being (and there you make a weary tone sisi, this goes very well ).

But now, I passed level 32, the baby is not any more sick (ask for me that it is not him any more of the winter) (they believe in it in death). I find therefore my work of dream (where over 10 h of job, I have 4 h of school / siesta where I can cram on my courses), and I point out that I become attached more and more to these two bacon cubes

In a next article, we will study the pelotage of let us nest official by a morpionne of the age of 3 years

Enclosed my uniform of great top nanny credibility:

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