Full of Beans

My son is full of beans. Like, all the beans. I go to daycare to pick him up and our provider, who loves him, tells me all about his latest adventures in stealing other kids' food, pinching, getting jealous over a smaller baby, slamming doors and all kinds of other nonsense. And then she says he makes her laugh and she loves him.

My 13-month-old is a real character, basically. I'm working on extinguishing violence. We're firm about the hitting. We say no hitting, and we use a stern voice and an unimpressed face, no yelling, no antics, just a lack of rewarding reactions that might feed the behaviour. It's working, for the most part. He still does it, but doesn't repeat it, or will stop mid-hit and not make contact. He also seems very hesitant about hitting now, which is an improvement.

But damn, it's an ongoing thing. And that's just one thing. There's many things I have to be aware of. He just learned to climb stairs. Now I must follow him up and down on the playground because he has not learned to be careful around ledges. I have to have recurring dialogues about being kind to animals and not charging them or grabbing fur. I have to explain other people's belongings are not there for his benefit; sorry you can't pick them up and take them with you. I have to try and teach him about different foods and make sure enough healthy calories go into his body.  I'm trying to teach him when he throws things away, particularly out of reach, he has to do without them.

And on and on and on. Every day there are countless teaching moments about acting right and I'm only with him two hours on weekdays. I don't resent this or even get bored. Hell, like I said, it's only two hours most days. I gotta pack in the time with useful things.

But damn, he still wears me out somehow in that window.

On an unrelated note, you could help me win free baby food: Vote for my video here and you'll help me save money, money, money.

Dreams

Jack was unwell when I picked him up from daycare yesterday, and he had a fever. So today he's home with me, after a grand total of six work shifts.

On my second week back to work, six days total under my belt. And my baby got a fever at daycare and now I need time off. #mommyproblems
— Jennifer Allan (@jendraberri) March 19, 2014

He's getting some much-needed sleep right now. I was thinking about how some people have their parents to rely on in times like this. My work is good about accommodating this kind of thing, but it doesn't make me feel like a good employee to need time off this soon. But he needs me, so here I am. And, honestly, I'm the best person to make sure he sleeps and drinks enough.

But thinking about not having my mom gave me one of my old dreams, the one where she's still alive.

Normally they fall along a certain pattern. I find out she's not dead yet, but she's left me anyway, to go live her life somewhere else, to die away from me after doing things on her own first. I chase what feels like a shadow, look for clues, ask others, beg for a phone number, anything. I always wake up before I find her.

This time was a little different. She did leave, but now she's better and wants to see me. I'm so excited, and I'm trying to get to her, trying to dial a phone that won't work, be where I'm supposed to be with obstacle after obstacle in my way.  I get messages and encouragement. And my son is alive in this dream. She wants to meet him. Everything is going to be better.

And then just like that, it's crushed. She faked her death, so I can't see her or the life insurance will sue. She won't see me. She goes back into hiding. I get to see a picture. She's happy. I know she loves me. And I wake up.

These dreams would haunt me more if they weren't the only opportunity I get to see her. And at least this time she wanted to see me back.

First Week Of Daycare

Jack has spent a week at daycare. He's eaten his weight in food, dropped a bottle from his daily feed and is not taking much in the way of naps.

Home after a busy day of daycare.

The eating part I'm feeling pretty great about. He's nearly a year old. Moving away from formula is a good move. The sleep part worries me. I've been so militant about it, going well out of my way to ensure he sleeps enough. But it's hard on him being somewhere new and trying to sleep there.

This weekend he stumbled around like a drunk, exhausted even after naps. He slept in. And today he had a leaky eye, runny nose and I got a call that he started running a mild temperature. He'd napped only an hour all day. He barely wanted dinner, so I did his bath routine 45 minutes early. And he's been waking up every 30 to 90 minutes with a cough or cry. Poor pumpkin.

And poor me.

You know, what's hard about being a parent isn't necessarily the extra labour. It's often the unknown variables you deal with. It's the lack of a support system when you're living away from most of your family. It's wondering how you balance your work obligations with your baby's needs. It's all the mental and emotional space your baby takes up in your mind and your heart.

Like right now, what do I do? He's wetting one fewer diapers than normal. Is it because he's sick? I don't want to wake him, but is his temperature staying steady? Was it the right thing to put him to bed early, or does that have anything to do with his restless sleep? These little choices feel so large.

I'm liking being back at work, but when Jack isn't feeling well, I don't want him away from me. I think he'll get better faster in my care. And I don't want to take time off work my second week back. He went till nine months without so much as a sniffle, and he's had three colds since, which actually lines up nicely with the increase in trips to the Early Years Centres and daycare. Sigh.

I wouldn't go back, but that doesn't mean there isn't a part of me that wistfully recalls my simpler life, which I didn't even appreciate as being simple. I can admit I struggle with certain aspects of domesticity, and throwing another person's needs into the mix at times feels daunting.

With him feeling under the weather, I feel no sense of predictability about tomorrow. At least this whole night has not been spent with him crying. Some sleep is happening. Maybe the morning will be okay. Maybe.

God, I'm lucky he's an easy baby. Jack is not the baby I deserve, but he is the baby I need.

Toronto's Daycare Subsidy

So, the Dude and I were approved for daycare subsidy. We were fortunate enough to find inexpensive home care at $45 a day, and it's been reduced to a little over $39, and only Tuesday through Friday because I don't work on Monday. But it's still a savings of around $80 a month, which is nothing to sneeze at.

And I intend to move Jack to the actual daycare centre when he's 18 months and there's space in the toddler room. Care then will cost over $70 a day and with the subsidy in place I should still only pay $39. I think. Either way, it'll be cheap enough to be affordable with the subsidy and all the leg work has now been done.

And what leg work there was.

We had to provide our Child Tax Credit statement, where our household income was assessed from our taxes. We had to provide our own tax assessments. I needed to provide a letter of employment, plus pay stubs and the Dude had to fill out forms for being self-employed. Then we needed our lease to prove we lived in Toronto. And we needed Jack's birth registration. And we both needed to go, so the Dude had to get the day off work.

So, we were lucky enough that my in-laws were in town and they took care of Jack. My goodness, he loves his grandpa. They visit on the iPad all the time and looks like it really has been enough to forge a relationship. The little guy was in grandparent heaven.

We got to the subsidy office later than intended because it's located in the worst part of the city: Islington. My god, what a hell hole. No, it's not riddled with crime and gangs. It's just car-centric, boring and horribly laid out, plagued with heavy traffic and nothing interesting to do or see. We missed one turn and it took us 20 minutes to get back to where we needed to be.

Screen shot from Google Street View
because it's too boring to take a real picture of.

In the office we gave our paperwork and at one point we were called over to verify some things. The lady cheerfully informed us we were missing things and was on the verge of telling us sorry, go home, suckers. Luckily it was she who missed something and so that didn't happen, although we saw it happen to someone else, a single mother who was there with a sick child. This place was all-business.

We had our interview with another woman who was even more walled-off than the first. She too said without a hint of concern we were missing things. There was no reassuring conversation that things could still be processed or that everything could move forward, so we were left feeling jittery and agitated. Apparently because I was on maternity leave, I needed a letter stating that and indicating when I'd return. And of course this was never mentioned until that moment.

I had very disturbing stomach rumbles during this time. When you have one crack at gaining a subsidy that will allow your finances to align for the next year and ensure quality care for your baby, you experience quite a bit of stress when it appears like it's not going to work out.

But thankfully, shitting my pants was not in the cards because I was informed that mat leave letter could wait and be sent in later. And just like that, we were approved. It seemed sudden, after all the mulling over our papers and very serious tone in the room. Immediately the mood lightened and the woman started conversing more naturally, answering questions and even nearly smiling.

It's definitely a weight off my shoulders. It's good to know what to budget for. All this time it's been an X factor. That's one of the crazy things about having a baby in this city. Finding a daycare is crazy, finding one you can afford is crazier still, and securing the subsidy can be tricky (And that's if you find care that'll accept it). So you can't make a sensible financial plan. I was quoted $1,400 a month from one place, which I could not afford. I'll pay about $820, which is a steal.

I'm so grateful I don't want more children. What you have to go through to get through life with one is more than enough. He's worth it, but cripes.

Countdown to Daycare

So, last time I wrote, Jack was not walking. Well, now he is.

And this started, like, last week. He can walk the length of the living room now. My boy, he's up and at 'em. He's really proud of himself, too. I say, "Come to Mommy!" when he's on his feet and he toddles right over with a happy little expression on his face.

And he's only 10 months, which is earlier than the norm to hit this milestone. And that's really awesome. It's also the scariest one, the walking. It's just so many more opportunities for my baby to hurt himself, and oh, he has already. He's taken nosedives into his activity cube, his play pen, the jumperoo, ironically all baby-friendly things.

And his little face, he looks so much like the Dude now. He used to be a replica of me, and now I'm seeing my husband more and more, which is kind of great. I was feeling bad for the Dude for awhile, only because everyone was telling him they could only see me.

Five months, all me.

10 months, looking Dude-like.

Every mom thinks her baby is adorable, so obviously I'm stupidly biased, but look at that face! He's just so handsome. I hope this trend of looking like his dad continues. I'm not bad looking, but although my baby face looks great on an actual baby, I don't know how well it'll translate on a young man.

But his wonderful appearance aside, what's really on my mind is daycare. I go back to work on March 11. What the hell. I don't understand how that is even possible. I remember when my mat leave stretched ahead of me like an unending and confusing sea of time I had no idea how to navigate. 

I spent the first chunk attached to a pump and feeling mixtures of failure, frustration and denial over my inability to exclusively breastfeed. Then another few months was spent getting emotionally comfortable with bottle feeding, trying to get out and meet people, and learning to understand my baby's daily rhythms. 

The last chunk has been spent really getting to know my baby. His personality is blooming and I love it. I love who he is. He's so charming and friendly. Stranger anxiety? He never developed it. He's very confident. He seems to even have a little sense of humour. Babies aren't supposed to have that yet, but he's laughed at his own farts and when I make funny noises. He's a brave kid too. He doesn't wait until he's sure he can do stuff. He just tries things out and keeps at it, injuries and all, until he's got it figured out. He's relaxed and easily distracted. He loves books.

And now someone else will be looking after him all day. But, I think he'll be fine. He's got a little sense of adventure and he'll have fun. He'll have new toys to play with and other people to talk to. And at daycare he'll learn new things, stuff that as a first-time mom with no baby experience I don't know anything about.

He'll eat new food, learn to nap in less idyllic conditions, and hopefully later learn to drink from a sippy cup and use utensils. There's just stuff that I guess you could say I'll be outsourcing. It'll no longer be just me teaching him things. And that's okay. The whole "it takes a village thing" is true. 

I believe in daycare. I think it's positive for children. I think it'll be good to have some separation. But... yeah. It'll be a change. It's an end to an era. How could I not feel conflicted?

Home Daycare

I have had a hard week. The Dude has been working overtime since Monday and it's Thursday. He's not even home yet. I get occasional texts from him lamenting his situation. And I've been exhausted. I used to be able to rely on the Dude handling bath time, maybe being home for Jack's dinner or some play. Not this week. I've been going it alone and it's tiring.

Last week I visited a daycare. And I took it. I rather wish it had been a more thorough search, but this city is not set up for childcare options. There are wait lists a year long (some requiring big deposits), not enough infant spaces and a parent right behind you ready and waiting to take the spot you didn't want.

The lady I met was nice and she took a shine to Jack. He seemed happy with the other children and it's an easy drop-off from our house en route to the Dude's work. It was safe, clean and I was able to pop in last minute, which gave me confidence.

I did want a centre, though, not a home daycare. I grew up going to a centre and there was a lot of space and activities, with plenty of children around. But infant spaces are few and far between. There just wasn't an open spot for when I needed it in the centre so I had to look into home care instead.

But I do see advantages to home daycare. For example, Jack really likes older kids and is not interested in his fellow babies. He'll be the youngest child, so he might like that. At a centre, he'd be around only other infants.

Also, fewer kids at the home daycare means fewer chances of coming home with a bug. You can't avoid illness with daycares, but limited kids means lower chances of frequent colds.

But still... it's a little unnerving to me. Here's the thing: I was just on my way out to see a different daycare when I talked to the provider and she told me the space just got filled. Just like that. Another provider told me I'd have to wait till a week before I needed the space to tour it. What? It was sheer luck that this other space was suggested to me and I could go right then.

And there was another agency I looked into, but they don't do the daycare subsidy and frankly we need it. We'll be daycare poor without a subsidy and so daycares that offer it have to take priority over ones that don't. Such is life.

There are very pretty centres that I didn't even bother getting on the wait list for, only because they didn't have the subsidy and $1,400 to $1,500 a month for their space is more than our rent. It really sucks that no matter how much you love your baby and how bad you want the best for them, you're limited in your options by your financial situation.

But again, nice lady, safe and clean home, the menu sounded good, she was okay using our cloth diapers and she has a fenced-in backyard. The inspectors had recently come by, and ultimately I didn't get the no-feeling.

I'm planning on moving him to a centre when he becomes a toddler, though. There will be space for him then.

And don't get me started on how this makes me feel. Even after a tiring week of solo parenting, I'll still miss him and worry all day because it's new and different. Sigh.

The Daycare

Before I get into what I've been thinking about today, of course I must talk about the kittens. We're giving them another medication now. Oh yes. One or both has a parasite and so they need a week of meds via syringe. Two syringes each, actually. What could be better for trust building than holding up your new kittens by the scruff and forcing nasty liquid down their throats?

We do this at meal time, which I make them wait for so they'll be plenty hungry and won't run off while there's still food. *Sigh* But what else can we do? But I'm super glad we got them, because maybe another adoptive owner wouldn't be so concerned about health or so diligent in their care.

Sprinkles started cuddling my legs last night and Beatrice is no longer running from me and lets me hold her a little. So things are looking up.

Now about my topic of interest today. I've been working on a lot of educational videos and today I was doing one that made me think about this daycare I went to. This place left a bad impression on me, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was mostly a very useful life experience. I only stayed there a year or two too long. And when objectively considering the facilities, I can understand now why my mom kept us there so long.

I started going to this place when I was 3. It was right beside my school (Yes, I entered kindergarten at 3. December birthday and such.) and so I'd get dropped off, walk there in the afternoon and then return after school. It was a structured place with about 20 kids, two age grouped rooms and about four staff, including a cook.

It used to be an old school. The principal's office was turned into a kitchen, the handicap bathroom turned into a unisex bathroom where the small children kept their toothbrushes and facecloths, the girl's one-toilet closet became unisex and the boy's bathroom was kept for older boys because of the urinals. The room closest to the entrance was for the kids in grade one and up, and the second room near the exit was for kindergartners and younger.

Each room had a sink, the Big Kids room was also an office of sorts, a couple long folding tables, two large hollow cubes, board games, some books, a black board, paper and markers and gimp and other such arty materials.

The Little Kids room was more exciting. In front was a low shelf of monthly rotating toys, and a collection of blocks. To the back right was the kitchen with costumes, to your left of the entrance was a corner with a felt wall screen and books, and in the far diagonal corner was the sink and crafting station. There were four or five tables with chairs for lunch and snacks.

Outside was a small fenced-in playground and outside the fence was a small barn of trikes, balls, shovels and pails, wagons and other things. Behind the playground was a basketball court. To the left of the building was a baseball diamond.

This was a very stringent place. Everyone knew the rules. The adults told them to you, but mostly the other kids made sure you remembered. One child saying "yes" and forgetting to say "Yes, please" would hold up everyone else getting their lunch. The staff would stand there and keep asking, "Yes, what?" and the other kids would hiss, "Please! Say 'please'!"

Every kid had to have their own bottle of sunscreen. So in the summer it would take 10 minutes for everyone to get slathered, older kids helping younger kids to get everyone moving. We were a 10-minute walk through a long field to a campground, which was owned by the parents of a staff member. So the Big Kids would walk to the campground's pool and swim for free. That pool is where the older kids taught me how to swim.

Behind the building there were raspberry patches. So the Big Kids would also harvest several plastic margarine containers full of berries and bring them back for everyone.

All of the girls made jewellery out of the gimp and threads and sold them at the school and brought the money back to the daycare and pooled it together. The owner used the money to buy us more crafts. The big cheese of this daycare, being a hardass, decided that since none of the boys helped make or sell, this special box of crafts were only for the girls. The boys complained but still never got involved.

As I got older, I started standing out among the kids. I'm pretty sure I held the record for lengthiest attendance at this place. 3 years old till 10 1/2. I was in grade 6 when I was taken out. Again, December birthday. Mix in a single parent and being the oldest and that's how you wind up in daycare in grade 6. I kept things interesting as best I could. One day I gathered the Big Kid girls and we made a circus day where we put on a gymnastics and clown show and painted faces.

It was around grade 5 I started to resent it. My classmates were starting to take notice I went to daycare after school and I was embarrassed. The girls closest in age to me were in grade 2. I got to be the cool (in comparison) older kid with them, but it's a lot more fun being the younger party in that sort of friendship. I remember those girls to this day and have fond memories, but at the time I was willing to say adios so I could be more like my classmates.

By the time grade 6 rolled around, I was not just a Big Kid, I was The Big Kid. About four grade 1 girls wanted me to draw them a princess every day. So I would. Four original princesses, every day, five days a week, about 80 a month. Then I would read a book I'd have selected from the library. Then we'd have to go outside and I'd play with the grade 1 girls by pulling them around in a wagon. Around this time, even being a kid myself, I really started learning a lot about relating to children. For awhile younger kids were my main companions for several consecutive hours on a daily basis.

Before I turned 11, my mom pulled me out of the daycare and changed her hours so that we could take the bus and that when we got home we'd only be alone a half hour. She saved money on childcare and gas, and I gained my dignity.

For years I could only remember the bad things. I remembered how snotty I thought the staff could be, how they would sometimes squirt us with water guns in the summer, how they were hard and authoritarian about the rules, which lent no understand to individual circumstances. I remembered childish injustices, some of which I fought personally and came out victorious (The younger kids would let me speak for everyone).

Five years after the fact I was called to babysit a girl who was one of the princess group. She had saved my drawings until her dad had thrown them out. She had me draw new ones and told me none of her other princess group friends believed I was her babysitter. So I had to draw more princesses and sign autographs. I'll probably never be called upon again to give an autograph, now that I think of it.

When I was in grade 7, my school was 400 people large, and could only handle 200. Another school was built and half of us left. The daycare lost most of their clientele. I've seen it in the years since. The playground was torn down, the barn was gone. And maybe because I was just older, but it almost seemed to have gotten smaller. And sadder.

And that made me sad. Even though I fought for years to leave that place and never looked back, even though I no longer live in that city, I still feel a small sense of loss. I suppose it's just a desire for some continuity and that the things I experienced weren't a blip in time. Maybe because I still say "Yes please" and "No thank you" at the dinner table and it's because of the daycare. Maybe because I can to this day draw an original princess in under five minutes. Maybe because I know where my ease with children comes from.

Memory is a funny thing. Don't know why it took me so long to understand what that place did for me.