About three years ago, we decided to lead a yaya-less life. The kids were all grown up; they can wash the dishes. There were laundry services everywhere; I can iron their uniforms on weekends. I can cook huge batches of stuff on weekends, which we can just reheat throughout the week. Things became even better when my son F, who wants to be a chef, really got into cooking. This meant I didn't have to slave at the kitchen on Sundays.
When Baby S came into our lives, I knew that inevitably we would have to get a yaya. And that's when I started having nightmares. You see, like most mommies, I've had my fair share of yaya horror stories like the one whose father (or was it mother?) got sick every two months or so, and who had to advance money just as often. Or the one who just vanished into thin air, taking with her the money being saved up by my boys for a Playstation (I cried on that one because the boys have been quite diligent with their savings). Or the one who pinched my son S because, as it turned out, she was pregnant and naglilihi.
I thought I had said goodbye to all that, but then here we go again. Just yesterday, at the time when we needed help most, Yaya T texted her goodbyes; she was going to apply for a job at a factory or something, she said. My daughter is still sick, the baby is coughing, and I am not feeling any better. I am not so worried though, I've seen worse. Tomorrow is another day!
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