SASHA“D
on’t worry, I’ll find a nanny,” Renee declared over lunch at La Scala. “Alma can ask the others when she picks Liam up from aftercare today.”
“God, no,” Sasha groaned. She had interviewed enough qualified applicants this past week, young and old women, even a very qualified eager gay man which was ideal, but had come to the realization that she didn’t want any stranger raising her baby. She wanted to be the one to change and bathe and clean its spit up, rock him or her back to sleep—the whole thing. “What I really need is a personal assistant, someone to pay the bills, get the dry cleaning. And of course,” she added, hoping she hadn’t hurt her friend’s feelings, “watch the baby while you and I enjoy long Chablis lunches.”
“Mommy’s little helper.” Renee offered a wry smile, held
