In Russian culture, most children have a babushka nearby or living with them. Perhaps as a result of a housing shortage in the Soviet era or greater closeness among family members compared to American culture, babushkas (pronounced BAH-bu-shka in Russian) are essential to the running of a nuclear family. My husband and I live in a small apartment with our almost 8 month-old daughter. We don’t live beyond our means. We don’t have a mortgage, so we can afford for me to stay home to raise our daughter. Honestly, I thought I would also have time to write a blog, or work on my hobbies while my daughter was asleep. That stopped after about 3 months, when our little antelope drastically cut down on her daytime sleeping and joined our adult world. Today, she rarely takes a nap longer than an hour. Her first nap of the day is around noon. Her second is around three hours later. At her first nap of the day, I can usually count on her sleeping an hour. But the second nap is hit or miss, mostly miss. At night, she goes to sleep around 10 pm and wakes up at 9 (with nightly awakenings in between to nurse.) So in the end, I am not gaining any time to do anything. Our little antelope demands attention when she is awake. She wants to be held, bounced, or played with. Her toys will buy you about 30 minutes of time in the morning. I’ve learned to take my shower while she is temporarily occupied, because if I wait, she cries while I’m in the shower, and that is not at all conducive to calm nerves. Motherhood with our little antelope is a full-time affair. So in the back of my mind, I fantasize about having a babushka- someone to keep her from crying while I clean, cook, or (gasp!) work on something else. Someone that can give me a day off when I just want to get my hair done. Someone who is an adviser, a confident, an integral part of the family. That is how I remember my babushka growing up. Too bad my daughter and I don’t have that opportunity here. My mother-in-law is 83 and lives on the east coast. I have a horrible relationship with my own mother. So there you have it. The fantasy continues.