Daycare is going fine. The teacher is nice, the kids have fun, and Cameron is so messy and played out by the end of the day that it is super easy to get him bathed and in bed.
Except that daycare isn’t going fine.
Not at all.
Because we’ve been struck with The Daycare Plague.
Today marks my third Wednesday at work. It marks three weeks of Cameron going to daycare for at least some portion of the day. And it marks the third week of sick.
During the past two weeks, we have not had a sick-free day in this household. And it has been rough. We’ve had serious colds, high fevers, ear infections, and Norwalk. And because we love each other so much, we’ve been sharing it around.
On Friday night, when Cameron came home from daycare vomiting up more than we even knew a little body could hold, I cleaned him, comforted him, put him to bed, and then I crumpled in frustration.
Normally, when Cameron gets sick, my initial reaction is to do whatever I can to make him feel better. I don’t think about the toll it takes on my body or how gross it is to be covered in snot or how tired I am from staying up all night with him. My heart breaks and I just do whatever I can.
But on Friday night, I just wasn’t sure if I could do anything anymore. I wasn’t sure if I could take care of him like I needed to. I wasn’t sure if I could watch my baby suffer. I wasn’t sure if I could take another day without his smile.
And then I started vomiting.
Oh excuse me. I should have said: And then Dan and I started vomiting.
We have one bathroom.
And one baby.
When what we needed was two bathrooms. And a nanny.
And sleep.
And health.
Since starting work two and a half weeks ago I have missed two out of three Mondays. Dan has spent three work days home either being sick or with a sick baby. And we have paid for four days of daycare that Cameron has not attended.
How can work even be worth this? How can it be worth our health? How can it be worth the smiles from my baby? How can it be worth our ability to parent?
Logically, I realize that our immune systems will get use to the bombardment of germs that Cameron will inevitably come into contact with as he plays with other kids. But I feel like I’m torturing him (and us) at the moment. I don’t feel like a bad Mom for not staying at home with my child. I don’t feel like a bad Mom for deciding to spend my days making money to support our family. I don’t feel like a bad Mom for sending Cameron to be with someone else daily. But I do feel like a bad Mom for letting Cameron get so sick just so that I can work.
I’m just so sick of the sick!
