Friday, January 31, 2014

Daycare Catastrophe

Luke had his first day in daycare this month, in the care of strangers in a strange place, with people who don't know or love him.

I knew it was going to be difficult for me, so I took that week off of work. And that was a very good idea. 

Because I had a meltdown 

The morning started out jacked up enough. He had a bottle at 5 am and went back to sleep with me until 7. We got up, and I fed him breakfast. He grunted a little like he was pooping. I figured I would finish feeding him, then a diaper change. 

Mistake. 

I should have known when he leaned to the side in his highchair and grunted that cascades of thick, chocolate waterfalls were being created. Poop had seriously leaked out of the leg holes of his diaper and down both of his chubby, rolling baby legs. 

I decided to just take him to the bathroom and hold him under running water, clothes and all. I took his pants and diaper off in the tub and held him under temperament water in an attempt to carefully rinse him off without needing a full-on bath. That idea was precisely executed in my mind. Not so much in person...

Poop.Went.Everywhere. 

He stepped in it, got his hand in it; chunks of baby poop were literally everywhere!

I gave up plan A and just shut the water off. I then carried him sideways into another bathroom where his 'baby tub' resided. I filled his little tub with water while still holding this squirmy poop-infested child sideways, careful not to contaminate everything. I sudsed the little dude up and bathed him as I should have to begin with. >defeated sigh<

Fast forward to actually arriving at the daycare facility: My stomach had butterflies. Read: poisonous butterflies. I just had a terrible feeling. Working-mom guilt? I don't know, but it was downright nauseating. 

We had a family friend nanny for us for a few months. I worked only 3 days a week during that time. Our sweet friend watched him 2 days a week, then my mom, or Josh's mom, watched him the other day. We managed to keep Luke out of public childcare until he was 9 months old. For that, I feel blessed. 

I researched every facility in our area. We toured and asked all of the questions you are supposed to ask. This place seemed like the best. Three cameras were in every classroom. Fast forward, rewind, pause, zoom... they did it all. And it was live feed that I could monitor directly from my phone. What a peace of mind! The classrooms were large and separated by floor-to-ceiling glass walls to make transitioning to the next room easier for the kids. That also made the classes feel safer for me, because anyone could see what was going on in any room. 

When I got to his classroom, there sat four babies in the middle of a cheap and thinly carpeted floor, crying. One was crying so hard she was doing the gasp-for-air-and-twitch thing between cries. She also had snot running out of both nostrils like heavy waterfalls (gag). They all looked so pitiful with bloodshot eyes and out-reached arms of desperation to be held. 

I clinched Luke a little tighter. 

The state law on ratio is 4:1, so the teacher was alone with these four screaming babies. She very dryly said to her babies, "Y'all are just going to have to wait. You'll be fine." Now, maybe I've said that a time or two to my son when he's screaming, and I haven't peed in 4 hrs, but something just didn't feel right about her saying that to someone else's baby. Someones pitiful, desperate, confused baby. And in front of me?! 

She called the front desk to ask for some help, because she was trying to give me a rundown on things. The director came in, wiped the snotty nose of gasping girl, and I don't even remember what else she did. I just stood there. I was in shock. I squeezed Luke so tight. I kissed his forehead and seriously considered turning around and walking out. Teachers from other classrooms were staring at me through the glass walls (or so it felt). They must have seen the pure panic on my face. You couldn't miss it, because I couldn't hide it. 

During the course of talking to this raspy-voiced, seasoned teacher, I felt myself get to the verge of tears several times. This was not how I envisioned daycare for my son. I imagined a loving environment with lots of happy babies. Not an uncomfortable room (for me) with screaming children and a teacher just a few years shy of being a walking, anti-smoking campaign slogan. Those butterflies were inflicting their poison into my gut the longer that I stood there. 

By now, another teacher had arrived, because the number of children had just surpassed four. I sat Luke down in front of the toys. It was almost his nap time. I stood and watched him for 45 minutes.
 
Forty-five minutes

I watched him crawl around and touch and explore this new land. He whined a few times, but resolved the issues himself. I told them that I rock/pat him to sleep for naps and that sometimes he's stubborn, and it takes a little effort. The latest teacher to arrive said that was no problem. She cuddled the other babies and really seemed to be genuinely caring. That made me feel a lot better. But I was still scared to leave him. 

I bit my lip to hold back the tears as I exited the room while he wasn't looking. He was engulfed in play, and I just hoped that he wouldn't even notice. As soon as I opened the front door and stepped one foot out into the frigid cold, tears began to pour down my cheeks. I bawled all the way to my vehicle. I put my sunglasses on during a grey, cloudy day to hide the mess on my face. I cried hard and loud. I called Josh, per his request. I could barely speak to him, because I was crying so much. I even turned on my GPS nav to get me home, because I just couldn't focus. 

I cried all of the way home. 

Once I got home, I tried to login to view him on the cameras, but my account hadn't been activated yet. The director told me she would activate it for me when I left. Apparently, she hadn't got to it yet. She obviously had no idea how badly I needed this! So, I sat at my pub table and cried harder than I've cried in a long time. I just imagined him crying like those other babies and not understanding why no one would pick him up. If those babies' parents could have seen them at that moment, I feel like a shitstorm would have erupted. It was heart-breaking. Like puppies in shelter cages crying out for love and affection. 

I cried some more. 

The thought of that being my baby tore me up. I feel like those babies should have taken priority over me. I would have had one on each hip or been in the floor with them telling the new parent that I would be right with them when my babies were calmer. They're all small babies (compared to my little giant baby). I just didn't understand why she was so cold about it. It was a clear first impression for me that she was probably in the wrong career. And I left my son with her. 

Bad, bad mom is all that rang in my ears. 

I tried logging in every 5 min. After an hour and a half, I called to check on him. The director forwarded me to his room. The raspy teacher answered. I could hear Luke screaming in the background.

Screaming. 

I felt my gut sink. She said he was fine, but really tired. She said he was "just going to have to wait," because she had three babies to feed before she could get to him. She said she put him in the swing. The swing? He hates swings now! At this point, he had been awake for 5 hrs without a nap. He usually naps in the morning after he has been awake for 2-3 hrs. I was mortified. I was pissed. I felt guilty. I cried, again. I had not cried that hard since Lexi died. It was bad.
 
I called Josh again and told him about hearing Luke crying and the way the teacher spoke to me. He told me to just go get him. That was all that I needed to hear to give me some validation that I should follow my gut-instinct. So, I cleaned up my face and left. 
 
When I got to the parking lot, I decided to try and log in one last time. Voila! It worked that time. I fast-forwarded through the last four hours of feed while he was there. He cried for two solid hours. Two hours!!! He was moved from crib to swing to floor to crib. Crying. The whole time. It appeared he had cried himself to sleep of pure exhaustion. How was this not child abuse in some way?! 

Bad, bad mom
 
I walked in to get him. The director greeted me at the front, where she buzzed me in. "Back already? That was a short first day," she said. I just smiled. I was so emotionally unstable, I'm surprised I didn't gouge her eyes out with a pen embossed with the school's logo. Whew. Good thing. For both of us.

When I walked in the room, Luke was sleeping in his assigned crib. I was told he crawled around, shortly after I left, looking for me. Then, he became upset. Break my heart a little more, won't ya?! He was picked up by a teacher and brought to me. He was sleepy, but happy to see me. And I him. I put his coat on and smothered him in kisses. The rest is a blur. I left. I cried all the way to my truck squeezing him. I apologized over and over again. I sat in the backseat and gave him a bottle before we headed home. 
 
I contemplated quitting my job all the way home, and would for several days to follow. I never imagined myself as a stay-at-home-mom, but I felt like it might be one of the only ways I could live with myself. What was I thinking?  

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