Day Care

Yesterday I printed off the list of state licensed day cares in my area.

There are thirty.

Twelve of them are in the deeeeeep hood.

Six are in the regular hood.

Two are in the borderline hood.

I ruled them out immediately.

Three are too far away.

Three don't take infants.

One has a waiting list of 23 babies.

That leaves me with three to choose from. 

All three of them are equidistant from my house and relatively close in price.

The pros of day care are:  they are state regulated, they are always open, they have set hours.

I visited one of them last night.

The place seemed clean, the staff professional, and the operation streamlined.

That should be calming and reassuring.

To anyone but me.

All I saw were nine babies lined up in a row - like an assembly line.

There were two workers that were doing their very best, but who were unable to calm the ones that were screaming because they were changing the diapers of the others.

Needs were being met on a basic scale.

But there were no rocking chairs.

No where that my baby would be snuggled, played with, or loved.

Not that I could expect that, but I was hoping.

Last night I couldn't sleep.

Because I had a panic attack that lasted from 1:30-5am.

Stomach cramps, chest pain, uncontrollable crying on the bathroom floor in between Carolyn's feedings.

Trying to reason things out.

Trying to convince myself that I am not the world's worst mother.

Trying to remember that this is only for a relatively short period of time.