Stephanie

The nanny sits on the couch, a baby in the crook of her folded legs, another in her arms. She is a strong woman--her muscular legs swathed in sporty sweatpants. Her upper body is folded into a black soccer sweatshirt. She is dressed for comfort and for hard work. Her skin in smooth and rich--the color of almost-burnt caramel. Her hair is thick, black and pulled back into braids. There is a tiny gem pinned into one side of her nose and multiple earrings dotting both lobes. When she turns a baby around to pat its back, the flash of a tattoo shines from the inside of one wrist. If you asked she'd show you the other one--a key drawn onto the soft side of each forearm. They are bold and delicate. A cell phone nearby rings and beeps on and off throughout the day, the various threads and characters in her life stretching out to touch her, to ask questions, get comfort, exchange laughter or frustration or tears. She reassures, teases, scolds, directs. Rarely at rest. Her smile is clear as she looks down at the little ones.