The Daycare Dilemma

“If I’m not able to focus on my career after I have the baby, I am going to DIE,” I had told Mr. Candy in what I truly believed was an understatement.  There may have also been a dramatic hair toss thrown in there for good measure.  Not wanting me to perish and leave our child without a mother, Mr. Candy suggested looking into daycare options.  Yes!  Great idea!  We were lucky enough to find a fantastic place just a couple miles away that our neighbor’s nine-month-old daughter attends.  This place has a SIX-BABY STROLLER for walks!  And REALLY CUTE BABIES!  Which anyone knows are the two most important indicators of a credible facility.  So we immediately put down a deposit to have Skylar enter daycare at the end of September.

Phew!  Two months will be MORE than long enough to bond with the baby, I thought.

That was before I knew I’d be missing out on this:

That September start date…?  Yeah, that’s now at the end of January.

I am fortunate to be in the position where I can be flexible with childcare.  Many parents are not.  But as much as I can’t bear to part with Miss Skye, I must confess that I am also going STIR CRAZY.   It’s that eternal Mommy Catch 22, right?  There is nowhere else I’d rather be.  Yet my eyes have bags big enough to have “Prada” embroidered on them.  My shirts have milk stains that I try to pass off as polka dots because I am too tired to clean them.  My hungry baby is permanently attached to my boobs, making it difficult — nay, impossible — to get anything done, which explains why I am writing this column at 1AM.

In short, my sanity is eroding faster than Larry King’s hair.

There are moment I am jealous of Mr. Candy, who gets to leave the house and have conversations that don’t involve the question, “Are you pushing out a poopy?”

However, when I e-mailed Mr. Candy this morning to inform him that Skylar had smiled at me for the first time — with no flatulence! — he responded, “Soooooo jealous.”  And just like that, I was reminded of why I moved daycare to January.

Because sharing is caring, as I tell my kids. (Except my wine. Never my wine.)
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Candy Kirby

Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

5 CommentsLeave a comment

  • Girl, I hear ya.

    Of course, I’m not a mommy; one of my sisters leave the two kiddies with us while she and her husband go out into the world to work.

  • I totally understand. I went through that dilemma with my first child, went back to work when he was 4 months old (he was in the daycare in my office bldg) and only lasted 2 months at work. I was leading a status meeting in which everyone was freaking out when I realized, “I don’t care about this. What I care about is that my son is downstairs, probably rolling over for the first time, and I’m not there.” I left my job with the intention of staying home until he and our second baby are at least in preschool. I couldn’t be happier…although I admit that the majority of my social interaction with adults occurs via facebook and twitter. That took some getting used to.

    Enjoy your undivided time with Skye. It’s true that it goes by quickly, and this time in their lives only happens once. Soon she’ll be asking you to drop her off 2 blocks away from school b/c she doesn’t want anyone to see her dorky parents. (Not saying you’re dorky, but as parents, you will immediately be classified as such to your teenage children.)

  • So true, Cowgirl. I once asked my parents to drop me off several blocks away from middle school, concealed by the bushes, because I was embarrassed by their car.

    What goes around…