Domestic issues.

Before we left for Lagos, my father-in-law gave me some good advice: "Follow your instincts," he said. "If something doesn't feel right, you'll know it." It did not take me long to recall that advice and then, just as quickly, I did my best to ignore it. Because my instincts were telling me that this nanny situation was just not going to work out. And I was afraid to do anything about it.

In all fairness, I never gave Pauline a fair shake. I've never had a nanny (or any full-time domestic help, for that matter), so I was not clear about my expectations from the start, and I am sure she felt that her role was a little bit undefined. She did her best, I think, to follow my lead, but in the end, it just annoyed me to have someone hovering over us at the breakfast table, or coming into a room to stand behind me as I disciplined one of the kids. Maybe I am just a jealous mother. Maybe I don't want someone to circumvent my authority. Plus, I want to be with my children. I don't want to send them down to the pool with a nanny. I want to go with them. This is what I quit my full-time job to do ... spend time with my children.

So without the children to look after, Pauline did whatever else she could to help around the house, including straightening the children's bedrooms and playroom, sterilizing the produce I brought home from the store, helping me prep food for meals and making the children lunch from time to time.  But I always had the impression that she was making busy work for herself. She simply did not have enough to do.

The final straw, frankly, was that in the three weeks I've known her, she made several, repeated requests for additional pay and benefits and other assistance. And even when I would decline a request, she would wait a week and then ask for it again. It got to the point that I was avoiding speaking to her for fear that she would ask me for something else. I appreciate that fact that my family is very fortunate, and I would like to help in any way I can, but give me a chance to volunteer my help. Develop some trust and rapport before you make demands. I may not have much management experience, but I do have a lot of experience as an employee, and even I know better not to ask for a raise after only three months on the job.

So in the end, after talking it over with new friends who are experienced ex-pats, rehearsing what I would say, clearing it with the hubby, and fortifying myself with a glass of wine, I built up enough backbone to do the deed last Friday. It was not fun. She was not emotional, but she did protest that I was not being fair. We agreed to pay her a month's salary as soon as she returns her security badge and vacates her quarters in the basement of the building. I reclaimed the key to our flat on the spot.

I told our steward Victor this morning. He seemed to understand, but later threw my guilt into major overdrive when he told me he was concerned for Pauline and wondered if she could come back part-time. I firmly said no. But now I feel terrible, and if this post sounds an awful lot like me trying to assuage my guilt, it is. But you know what? I think it is working.

I already feel better. I love having some privacy in the afternoons, and I am glad to have a bit of housework fall back on my shoulders. It's no good to be idle. I was starting to feel a lot like a character is a Jane Austen novel ... way too much free time on my hands to indulge my inner monologue. Busy is better.