I took my youngest daughter along to a crèche this week.
I want to enroll her in January/February, but there have been some instances this year when our nanny was not available and I was put into what would only be called a stressful situation because I did not have a Plan B.
I get very stressed without a Plan B through F.
I opted to investigate Plan B which was to look at a crèche and maybe take her every Wednesday. I figured she would get used to it, I would get used to it, and I would have a fall back plan in the event of something happening.
All seems like a good plan. Isabelle has been there once when I needed them as a Plan B and it was okay.
This week I decided to start the every Wednesday thing.
I already got anxious on Tuesday during the day. Tuesday night I was feeling quite edgy. Wednesday morning I was thinking this is not a good idea, but decided to put my head down and just get on with it – wearing my big girl panties and all.
Wednesday morning arrived, I got her ready. But my heart really was not into it.
I kept thinking that I really do not want to be doing this – I really do not want to do this. But I convinced myself that I need to act like an adult and just get on with it, and she would be fine.
Got her to the class – I was still really not happy with the idea.
I sat with her on the mat. It was breakfast time so a little chaotic and there were all these babies and these two helpers were trying to do breakfast. Shoveling drippy runny porridge into a group of babies is not my idea of a good time, and clearly did not fill them with the joy of life either.
The thing that disturbed me the most – and there were several things that disturbed me. There was a little girl who was at that point where she could crawl on her tummy but could only go backwards.
So she had gone backwards and was now stuck in a corner. She was very sweet in her pink onesie, but sort of stuck there. No one was helping her out of the corner as they were busy with the other kids. She swung between crying sadly and smiling at me – it was torture to watch.
There was another little baby who was on her tummy, and could not roll over – and she was also getting a bit distressed, and no one was helping her.
I sat on the mat with Isabelle – more for my comfort than hers – and looked out at all of this. The more I sat there, the more distressed I got.
At one point I started to pat Isabelle’s hand. I think I needed someone to pat my hand and tell me that it was going to be alright, because it really wasn’t.
I looked at what to me looked like baby-daycare-hell and then I thought “okay I need to leave her..”
I picked up my key, and stood up. Then she looked at me, her eyebrow got a little crease, she looked at me, pulled her toy-doggy closer to her chest, and pushed her thumb further into her mouth.
I said “love you foofy-noof” and made to leave …. Isabelle looked at this, looked over at the other kids, looked back at me and then the crease in her forehead deepened.
I backed away further. She assessed her surroundings, and sucked her thumb harder.
I got the to the gate and clicked it open – her eyes darted to me –now fully assessing exactly what was happening and put her head back and released the silent scream.
It’s that scream of anguish before the god-awful blood curdling scream that you know is coming.
And I left ….
The entire day I kept telling myself that this was a hugely shit idea and I need to go back and get her. Then my other voice-of-reasoning told me she is fine, and not to worry. She will make friends and I will arrive and realise I over reacted and she had a great old day.
In the late afternoon they combine the children that are left in the baby class with the children who are in the toddler class. They move the babies over to the toddler class as both groups get really small.
When I got there, Isabelle was lying on the green mat by herself with tears streaming out of her eyes and down her cheeks – she was sobbing … all alone …. on the green flipp’n mat.
The first thing I noticed (beside her being alone, on her back, on the green mat, and crying her eyes out) was that her little toy dog – which is like her Linus blanket – was in another room.
Isabelle needs this little dog to comfort herself. When ever she is distressed she rubs the little doggy’s ear, sucks her thumb and then feels better. It is her little thing, and I had explained this to the class teacher.
So there my poop was all alone, crying her eyes out and no doggy in site.
The helper/assistant/satan’s maid servant returned to collect the last baby and then left the room, without so much as a backward glance at me or my destroyed child – no comment or mention that the day clearly was a shocker.
I scooped up my lump of sobbing flesh, gave her doggy to her, put all her stuff into her bag and left the crèche.
They can keep my damn money. There is no way I will be darkening their door again. Isabelle can remain at home with Pepe and she can remain at home next year too – fek this as a plan.
I do not care if Pepe is off ill or otherwise detained. I will just take time off work, but there is no way I am putting her into that school.
Kennith ever the economist said “well, you will save yourself +R1 300.00 per month” – then he realized that money saving was not quite the motivation here and quickly added “she is fine at home and also has the company of the other two kids in the afternoon, she will be fine, leave her at home.”
So that is that then – I am officially shelving any ideas to get her into a pre-school/crèche/caring facility and will leave her at home with Pepe indefinitely.
I do not recall being this traumatized when I took the other two to school, but I can honestly say I was totally distraught and I hate crechés/day care for babies.
Right now I am not ready for her to go to school and well that is pretty much that then … and because I am the mommy I get to make this decision, so yay for me!