Nanny envy

I can't believe how lucky we got with our new nanny. She's loving and warm and smart and funny. She comes with incredible, heart-felt nanny references. She's even studying to become a professional baby nurse. And Maya loved her right from the start. How can I be jealous of a woman like this? How can I be anything but elated that she's in our lives? But for a few days last week, I was. It started one afternoon after I met her and Maya at the pediatrician's office. For whatever reason, Maya would not make eye contact with me. She would look at the nanny, even coo or smile at her, but it was as if I didn't exist.
"Maya," I kept saying, "Maya, honey, it's your mommy." But she just looked away. It was strange how strongly I reacted, but it made me feel queasy. "What's wrong with her?" I asked.
"Maybe she's mad at you," the nanny joked.
The next day, I watched carefully for Maya's reaction when the nanny arrived at our apartment. And it happened. Maya's face lit up when she called out to her. Then I noticed Maya had the same reaction to David whenever he entered the room.
I hate to admit it, but I got a little paranoid. I started watching for proof to reaffirm my worst fears.
Since I had started freelancing again a few weeks before, it's true that I had been a bit distracted. And perhaps I had spent more time facing my computer than engaging with Maya. Had I assumed that my bond with her through breastfeeding would withstand anything? Suddenly I felt reduced by my own baby to 'the woman with the breast milk.' And in turn, my husband and my nanny had become her sources of fun.
The rejection made me feel lovesick and lonely. At night, I lay awake between feedings and wondered what to do. What if my baby grew up being a “daddy’s girl?” What if she felt disconnected to me, even as a teenager? Had I taken the natural mommy bond for granted?
There's was only one thing to do. I started spending concentrated, focused, fun-time with Maya. I made a point of making eye contact with her whenever we were together. And even though it felt fake at first, I talked to her in the high, playful voice that both David and the nanny used. And this incredible thing happened. She responded.
Soon she started to laugh and coo and outstretch her tiny, fat arms to grab my face and dive towards it, open-mouthed, drenching me in her drool. Within a matter of days, she and I developed our own playtime rituals, which are different than what the nanny and David have with her, but no less special.
She still responds to the nanny and David by laughing and cooing. But now when I come home, she looks at me from her perch in the nanny's arms, stretches out her arms and lets out a little yelp that can only me one thing: "Mama!"