Less than three months ago we were betrayed by our daycare provider, who shouted (in front of the other daycare kids) that my son was awful. If you want to catch up, here’s the post but needless to say it was a terrible time and we needed to find Will a daycare provider stat.
The good news was we found someone right away. The bad news? She turned out to be an ultra-religious, gay-bashing bigot who taught my kid religion and prayer without my consent. But even though she wasn’t ideal, I figured at the very least I was taking my son to a state certified in-home daycare that would provide him with at least the basic level of care.
Turns out I was wrong.
Three days ago he came home and after an hour, said he had to pee. When we took down his pants to go to the potty his underwear had huge skid marks on them. And his ass was caked with shit. It was hard and dry and gave him a rash. She claimed he hadn’t been like that when we picked him up and I couldn’t prove otherwise. I just asked her to be extra vigilant. My wife, who is much smarter than I am, had a bad feeling the next day. So she called me and told me she was no longer comfortable with Will in this lady’s care. She literally picked up and left work in the middle of the day to get him and pull him out of there immediately.
Turns out MJ’s instincts are solid.
When she arrived at daycare Will was eating lunch. And sitting in his own feces. She slapped a check on the table for the rest of the week, told her this was Will’s last day and never looked back. When they got home Will’s ass was once again caked in crap. But this time we couldn’t get it off with wipes. We had to put him in the bath and soak it off of him. She had done it again, leaving him to sit in his own filth.
Let’s just say I told this woman off in fine fashion. Belittling an entire group of people (many of which are my gay friends and family members) in front of my son normally would’ve been the last straw. But times are tough and I stuck with her mainly because I didn’t think we could afford to go somewhere else. But when she’s leaving my kid to stew in his own shit all day? No way. Not to mention he’s completely regressed when it comes to potty training because she just allowed him to piss and shit himself all day. Now he no longer tells us when he has to go. In my opinion, she physically harmed my son. She’s lucky I didn’t burn her fucking house down.
So where does that leave us? Good question.
We’ve secured a spot at a local preschool. It’s fantastic there. It’s more of a classroom setting with a dozen or so teachers who are extremely professional. They have nothing but great reviews. I’m thrilled Will snagged the last spot. But unfortunately, the best equals the most expensive. Which means this school is going to cost an ADDITIONAL $400 a month. Yup. It’s crazy. Will’s monthly daycare bill is now on par with our mortgage payment.
I have no idea how we’re going to afford it. Neither does MJ. But at this point it doesn’t matter because this is what Will needs. And I’ve learned you can’t skimp when it comes to who takes care of your kids. So even though I’m freaked out about paying an extra $400 a month, I consider it the price of peace of mind. And in that respect, it’s worth every penny.
But you’d never know Will is going to be attending his third daycare in three months. He’s happy, healthy (minus the crazy rash on his ass thanks to Demon Daycare Lady) and making me laugh every single day. For example:
- I jokingly called him a punk yesterday. His retort was “Not a punk Dada. I’m a brat.” Can’t argue with you there.
- Earlier today I asked him if he had to pee. He told he didn’t. About 30 seconds later he pooped in his pants. I asked him why he lied to me and why he didn’t tell me he had to go when I asked him. You know what the little bastard said? “You asked pee Dada. Not poop.” Technically he’s right. Shame on me for not being specific.
- He’s a Harry Potter fanatic. He says “Dumbledore,” “Quidditch” and “Harry Potter flies.” Not to mention he likes to grab makeshift wands, point it at me and shout “Avada Kedavra.” Should I be concerned that my son has already learned the Killing Curse and is trying to use it on me?
So bottom line is we have our hands full here. But that’s OK. That’s what parenting is all about. Somehow we’ll make it work. If my son doesn’t ice me with a magical spell first.