I really like having my kid in daycare. This is
partly because I have a job so I don't have much choice, and partly because I’m a raging extrovert
who gets really weird without grownup interaction. I know my
limitations, and I don’t think being a stay-at-home parent
would be a great fit for me. My sister and I have been having
conversations lately about in-home daycare vs. center-style, and I think
there are a lot of benefits to either. (In
our county, in-home daycares must be certified, and can choose to work
directly through the county to accept foster kids, so we got a list of
daycares, both in-home and center, to pick from in our area when we got
certified to foster. Our kid goes to a branch of a center-style
daycare about a mile from our house.)
All of that said, there are a few things that routinely bug me about our daughter’s daycare:
1. At least once a week, I have to hunt for her
pacifier before we can head home. She has a pacifier clip. She enters
the building with it clipped to her shirt every morning. Unless they’re
changing her clothes (see next item) I don’t have
any idea why they’d have to unclip it and leave it, say, on the
bookcase, or draped over the arm of the bouncy zebra toy. I’m not in
love with the baby being as attached to her pacifier as she is, but
that’s our choice, not the daycare’s, and I don’t like
having to hunt for it. Especially because I don’t usually notice it’s
missing until she’s buckled into her carseat, so I have to unbuckle her,
haul her back inside, and find a small item in a large room.
2. Lately, our girl has been resistant to wearing a
bib at daycare. This is interesting, since she has never fussed about
or pulled at a bib at home, with the very rare exception of when putting
the bib on slows down the process of getting
food into her face. Anyway, in the last week or so, the daycare has
just let her eat without one. We do baby-led solids, which means
our almost-nine-month-old gets a lot of chunks of fruits and veggies. So
regardless of what she’s wearing, they let
her eat peaches, sweet potatoes, carrots, broccoli, green beans,
whatever, without a bib. And then afterwards, after there’s a bunch of
organic matter smushed into her clothes, they just change her into one
of the backup outfits from her cubby. And stick the
messy clothes into a grocery bag, tied shut. For me to deal with, up to
eight hours later. This has meant a huge increase in the amount of
Oxyclean I have to use on her clothes, which sucks because the baby has
eczema and I try not to use synthetic shit on
her clothes (and I haven’t been able to find a natural stain remover
yet), and a doubling of the amount of clothes I have to wash for her
every week. But I haven’t said anything, because I can’t tell if this is
the battle I really want to pick. Maybe I should
get a few thrift-store shirts in a bigger size for them to throw on
like a smock?
3. This is the biggie. The usual lady who runs the
baby room is on vacation this week, which coincides with the start of a
new baby. Yesterday, I dropped our girl off to the usual backup lady,
who we know and are comfortable with. The new
baby was on the floor with a woman who I assumed was her mom. NOPE.
It’s a new employee, who made very limited awkward small talk with me
but who didn’t bother to even INTRODUCE HERSELF in the ten minutes I was
there. She was there when Andy picked the baby
up, and introduced herself to him, but no one at the daycare mentioned
the baby would be with a new person (which, hi, attachment issues mixed
with visits in the last few weeks, would have been fucking cool to have
been notified of) and that she would be in
charge of my kid. What the hell, daycare?
It feels weird telling people what to do,
especially for someone who curses a lot but is painfully polite in real
life, and it’s even weirder when you’re telling them to do something
totally different from how everyone else does it. Explaining
baby-led solids to the usual lady was not fun for me, nor was the
conversation a few weeks ago where I realized they aren’t feeding her
like we do (i.e., bottle of three or four ounces of formula plus three
or four ounces of solids equals a meal – they’d been
giving her small bottles at mealtimes and solids separately),
especially when I called yesterday about the visit and they were doing
it “their way” again.