Obsessing about Daycare

Happy Monday. This is the day I like to think of as my ramp-up to high anxiety. On the weekends, I wouldn't be working anyway, so I get to immerse myself in joyful family life (another post, another day) and ignore my impending status as "unemployed." Now it's the start of the "work week," and I am in my jammies still (brand new from Costco! so warm and fuzzy!), serving as someone virtual assistant until the company kicks me off its payroll. This self-imposed dress code serves as a reminder that I am not at an office, Regis and Kelly on TV remind me that I am not working very hard, and the pit in my stomach reminds me that that soon I will not be making any money or have health insurance. All this leaves me with lots of time to obsess. The object of my obsession right now is my son's day care situation.

Baby Boy has some bad-ass reflux, poor kid. We really have to stay on top of it all, what with his meds, when he eats, how he is positioned, and now what he eats. He has an allergy to dairy (including cheese and yogurt) and soy. He started day care on his first birthday, September 24th, and of course, we told them all about these issues. We provide his rice milk, and normally they are very careful with him. We are grateful. However, something seems to happen around 3 pm. That is when the children are consolidated into a different room, the new shift comes to the day care and the regular and well-trained classroom teachers go home.

Friday I arrived a few minutes after 3 to pick him up. He was seated at the little table, having a grand old time pouring his dixie cup of milk on his screaming friend, then taking his friend's cup and pouring his all over himself. I was amused, and a little concerned that someone thought it was a good idea to give toddlers dixie cups instead of the easier-to-contain sippie cups.

Then I went home, slept and woke up still thinking about the incident. It occurred to me that the milk in his dixie cup was regular cow's milk, not his watery-looking rice milk. That's when it hits me: Baby's been waking up at night in pain for the past month because his afternoon snack includes cow's milk! Sure enough, Friday when he dumped his milk instead of drinking it, he slept great all night through. Same thing Saturday. Same thing Sunday. Not a coincidence, methinks. I hope this problem is solved.

So this is me with too much time on my hands. Is my laundry done? No. Is my house clean? No. Have I decided what we're having for dinner? No. I spend my time worrying instead.