Why I Started Infant Atelier

I didn’t start Infant Atelier because I was finished being a nanny. I started it because nannying taught me how much the earliest years deserve, and because I wanted to build more of what I had learned to value.

For 18 years, I worked closely with children and families inside their homes. Nannying gave me an intimate view of infant care: the feedings, naps, floor play, difficult transitions, tiny new skills, and ordinary moments that make up a whole childhood. It taught me that good care is less about putting on activities and more about knowing a child well enough to notice what they need.

Then I became a mother. I began seeing the work from both sides: as the person providing care and as the parent being asked to trust someone else with the center of her world. At the same time, the artist in me kept imagining a place of my own, shaped around infants from the beginning instead of asking them to fit into a space or schedule designed for someone else.

Infant Atelier is the meeting point of my years as a nanny, my life as a mother, and my instinct to make things beautiful and purposeful.

What I wanted to keep

I wanted to keep the intimacy of private care. I wanted children to spend their days with familiar adults who know their rhythms and can tell the difference between a hungry cry, a tired cry, and a child who simply needs a little more time. I wanted parents to know who is holding, feeding, and comforting their baby.

I also wanted to add something a one-family nanny role cannot always offer: a tiny, steady group of peers; a room prepared entirely for infants; a garden that belongs to their day; and two caregivers who can support one another without turning care into an institution.

Small is the point, and the gamble

Infant Atelier is designed for four children with two consistent caregivers: a true 1:2 ratio. That number is not a marketing detail. It changes the day. One caregiver can stay present through a feeding, diaper change, or hard separation while the other remains available to the rest of the group. There is more room to respond before every need becomes urgent.

It is also a real financial gamble. Childcare is in crisis in this country. Families are already paying more than many can comfortably afford, while the people providing care are too often asked to make impossible numbers work.

The two biggest expenses at Infant Atelier are rent and Gillian’s wages. That feels important to say plainly. The money is going toward keeping a dedicated space for the children and paying the other person who will spend her days caring for them. Over time, I want to be able to offer Gillian more benefits, not build a beautiful program on top of invisible sacrifice.

A 1:2 ratio means dividing tuition among very few families while still paying for that space and two skilled adults. There is no clever way around the math. So yes, part of this experiment is wondering whether families will invest in care this small.

Could the community widen the circle?

I keep wondering whether community events could help make Infant Atelier more affordable. Could a garden gathering, a family art morning, or some other neighborhood tradition raise money for partial scholarships? Could the program become not only a place families attend, but a small community that helps make room for one another?

I don’t know yet. I don’t want to make a sentimental promise before I understand what is sustainable. But I would love to find a way to hold both things at once: tuition that reflects what very small, attentive care actually costs, and some real help for families who value the program but cannot carry the full cost alone.

I don’t believe every family can or should have to solve America’s childcare crisis privately. I am simply trying to see whether one tiny program can care well for children, compensate caregivers more responsibly, and still stay connected to the neighborhood around it.

Home-based does not mean improvised

Infant Atelier is licensed as a small family childcare home, but the children will not be folded into the middle of our living space. The program has its own dedicated downstairs unit, prepared as an infant classroom with a main room, a separate nap room, and direct access to the garden.

I chose this model because I want the warmth and familiarity of a home without giving up intention, professional accountability, or a space that truly belongs to the children. Home can be small, serious, beautiful, and carefully run.

Beauty and play are not extras

I care deeply about the room, the materials, the light, and the garden. Not because babies need an impressive space. They don’t. Beauty matters because calm, order, natural materials, and room to move affect how a day feels for everyone inside it.

The toys are open-ended because I don’t want every object to tell a child what to do. A basket can be filled and emptied. A scarf can disappear. Water, soil, leaves, shadows, and a wooden object carried around for half the morning are enough. The point is not constant stimulation. The point is time, attention, and the freedom to become absorbed.

And a beautiful room never replaces a responsive caregiver. It supports the relationship; it does not stand in for one.

Three days can still be a real rhythm

Infant Atelier runs Tuesday through Thursday. I know many families need five full days of care, and this program is not pretending to be the answer for everyone. It is a deliberately part-week offering for families who need or want that rhythm.

Three consistent days still give children a place they know, adults they trust, and a small group that becomes familiar. Part-time care does not have to feel pieced together or secondary. It can be designed with the same seriousness as any full-week program.

What “elevated” means to me

Elevated childcare is not luxury for luxury’s sake. It is elevated regard for infancy. It means treating care routines as meaningful, giving children time instead of rushing them, making room for movement and rest, and respecting parents enough to communicate honestly.

I am not trying to build a tiny preschool or an enrichment treadmill for babies. I am building a place where four very young children can be known well, where two caregivers can remain calm and available, and where the surroundings say: your first years matter.