As most of you know, Mariah Carey had her twins last week— Moroccan and Monroe. Roc and Roe, for short. Those are their official nicknames— I did not make them up. Separately, they are cute. Together they sound like a fast food sushi place in a mall food court.
Editor's Note: My husband pointed out that those are also the acronyms for "Return On Capital" and "Return On Equity". Then my brain flashed "finance! math!" before it exploded.
Originally, I was going to write a post entitled "Are You Qualified To Be Mariah Carey's Nanny?" In it, I would detail the various demands of her potential caregiver the way one might have written one of her infamous concert tour riders.
However, after doing a bit of research (yes, I take my celebrity snark seriously), I discovered that Mrs. Carey does not intend to hire a nanny.
After an hour of semi-consciousness and another fifteen minutes to pick myself up off the floor, I gave this new information some thought.
As someone who claims to be "eternally 12", I think Mariah might not fully grasp all that motherhood entails. Perhaps she has been so sheltered by handlers and sychophants, that the concept of a dirty diaper or a middle of the night feeding has totally escaped her.
So. I decided to do Mariah a service. I wrote a letter — Mamma to Mamma— in the hopes of helping the poor thing out.
Congratulations on Roc & Roe! You must be excited for that magical moment when you tell your children the origin of their names. "Monroe? You were named after a drug addicted suicidal Hollywood star who slept with the President. Morroccan? We love countries in adjective form." Such special times await you.
I hear you spent $100,000 on your nursery (pictured below). Hats off to you. Does it matter that you could have diapered the entire newborn population of five to six third world nations for that amount of money? Not really. More important that you institute (and I quote) "a delicate balance between raising them around glitz and glamour and keeping them grounded". GOOD START!
Also, I applaud how your penchant for all things white (kittens, roses, etc) has extended to your nursery. In order to avoid unsightly poop and puke stains (spit-up does not come out— FYI), I advise building a wing where you can duplicate the nursery at least thirty times. That way, when it gets a little dingy or an accident occurs, you can just transfer the twins to the identical nursery without having to worry about cleaning up the one before it.
However— I would ditch the $30,000 cinderella crib (pictured right). I know you probably have little sheet changing experience, but changing sheets is a pain in the ass. Changing crib sheets is even harder. Changing crib sheets within an enclosed circular pumpkin? Impossible.
Lastly, I know that you like to make people wait. It's your THING. I get it— you're fabulous. But your twins are new to this world and might not appreciate your level of stardom. Shocking, I know. My guess is that they won't wait for you in the way you have become accustomed. There might even be *GASP* crying involved.
I suggest adorning their nursery with full-on Mariah memorabilia. Framed magazine covers, shelves for your various awards, platinum records, etc. Maybe project "Glitter" on the ceiling so they can watch it as they fall asleep. The more the twins are surrounded by your stardom, the sooner they will understand that waiting hours for you to feed, change and/or bathe them is a privilege, not a curse.
In conclusion, I think you will make an excellent mother. And if you really feel strongly about not hiring a nanny, I support you. I'm sure your diaper changer, banana masher, stroller handler, bedtime story reader, wet nurse, onesie dry cleaner, bath time intermediary, burp cloth embroiderer, infant masseuse, live-in pediatrician, newborn hairdresser, child development guru, pacifier finder, infant stylist, and some guy named Nick Cannon all feel equally confident.
Best of luck!