It's time to find daycare. A busy baby momma like myself couldn't stay home full time, could she? (or, at the very least, she would need a ready supply of spending money, something that currently isn't available...)
So, I need to find a place to leave little Jimmy when I'm at work. Conveniently, there is a daycare just across the street from us. Perfect, I always thought. The outside looks cute enough, and normal looking people seem to find their way inside during pickup times. (How do I know this? Our favourite pub is conveniently located just across the street, making the daycare location even more appealing.)
I made the mistake, it seems, of scheduling a visit. Inside, the floor was littered with crumbs and a carpet was stained. Four babies and three adults were positioned around a shallow tray of oatmeal, their hands (and some heads of hair) coated with the sticky stuff. I felt almost like wretching. They use food to play with, the director explained, because the kids tend to eat it. I stumbled out of the place, sure that I could never leave James there. He deserved a pristine, perfect place, where the staff members are creative geniuses. At this place, they seemed merely average, as judged by their accents.
In the days that followed, I did research on other daycare centres further away. I began scheduling visits with them, even though they would add an extra 30 minutes to my commute. I visited one. The kids were bright and smiley, but the place was littered with crumbs. I've talked to other mothers who have noticed similar things about various daycares.
I have since come to the conclusion that I need to keep my ego and guilt in check and use the daycare closest to me. Kids are messy, and I can see that they get even more so as they get older. (let's face it - right now, he eats only milk - very predictable. Who knows what terrors we can expect when he goes to solid foods?) The babies seem happy, and I'm not the one who is going to be spending the day in this place. Thank goodness.
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