My Baby Is In Daycare and I Never Miss Her

Daycare is the. best. thing. ever.

We had always planned to send Marlowe to daycare, because we always planned for both of us to be gainfully employed.  Then, I parted ways with my former law firm in the middle of my maternity leave and ended up opening my own law firm. As a result, we stupidly told the daycare lady that we didn’t need her.

On an unrelated but important note, I would like to ask my friends to go out and get sexually harassed by their bosses, including but not limited to: having their boobies touched and/or be the recipient of dick pics (preferably on a workplace computer or server!) and/or be propositioned for sex  and either 1). Have lots of friendly witnesses or 2). Get it all in writing.  Marlowe needs to go to college some day.  Go Michigan!

Let me tell you what a joyful period of time it was to have a premature newborn at home while opening a business, recruiting clients from my old firm, finding new clients and then finding the time to do all of the work.  Thank God / Spiderman / Harry Potter for Ativan. 

We quickly realized it would be impossible for me to be with Marlowe during the day and run a business.  Thankfully daycare still had room for us on all days but one, so about a month after Marlowe came home, we shipped her ass off to a stranger.

To be fair, Ms. Joan is not a total stranger.  Prior to Marlowe’s birth, when we went to her home to check it out, she pointed out that I looked awfully familiar.  I am not the all-American girl next door looking type of person, so I assumed she knew me from somewhere.  After about 5 seconds of discussion, we realized we knew her because she used to be the bartender at a bar in Chelsea we hung out at all the time.  Obviously we hired her on the spot. 

So anyway, on the first day of daycare I diligently packed Marlowe’s bag, dressed her in something totally fucking awesome and brought her to Ms. Joan.  (Most kids call her Joanie, but not in this house. We fancy.) 

Drop off took 10 seconds, give or take.  I threw her car seat on the table, unloaded bottles and formula, gave Ms. Joan very little instruction and hit the ground running.  I figured she’s raised 4 kids and the Commonwealth has allowed her to run her business for 7 years so she should be able to figure it out.  Or text me with questions.  Basically I couldn’t wait for Marlowe not to be my problem.  Jeff texted and asked me if I cried.  HAHAHA.  I sped home and took a nap. 

I fucking love Ms. Joan.  She loves my baby.  Seriously, she coddles her way too much.  Every day when I pick her up, she’s snuggling with her.  This actually works in my favor because I regularly sprawl myself out on her couch, drop my puse and whine to her about my day, all the while she holds the baby.  Did I mention she is also my therapist?  And, she seems to like Jeff and I.  Her own children are cool kids -  involved in our community and make an effort to play with Marlowe and speak to me when I see them.  But I seriously considered firing her when I found out she supports Trump.  Ummmmm, lady.  You run a SMALL BUSINESS that is SUBSIDIZED by the GOVERNMENT.  Trump is not your ideal candidate, you fucking idiot.  But, keep keeping my baby alive please.  Dummy.

She also has no tolerance for “new school” parenting.  I once gave her bags to steam Marlowe’s bottles in and told her they are good for 20 uses.  It’s been about 15 weeks, and she is with Marlowe four times per week, and feeds are at least twice a day…and she’s yet to ask me for another.  I let that one slide.  In my head I know I she is going to encounter a germ or two, especially given that the other kids in Ms. Joan’s daycare cough in her face all day long.  So not steaming the bottles seems fine, btu I feel better telling myself that if she gets sick, its not my fault.  Because clearly blame needs to be assigned when your child gets sick.

Here is another good example of Ms. Joan’s no bullshit approach to co-parenting my child.  When Marlowe started solids I explained that we were starting with oatmeal and then would move on to fruits and vegetables after waiting three days in between each to see if she develops an allergy.  That afternoon I got a text, “Marlowe loves pears!” and then next day “She loves squash!”.  Jesus lady, know your role.  Except I thought briefly about it, discussed it with Jeff and we were like, “Cool, now we don’t have to feed her pears and squash and monitor for allergies.” 

Plus, finding her a new daycare would be hard and I’m just not willing to commit to doing anything hard.  So, Marlowe goes to daycare and gets loved on by an opinionated, somewhat ignorant woman who seems to think Marlowe is half hers and it is the best thing ever.  I seriously don’t know what I would do without Ms. Joan.