As it so often does in moments like this, time slowed to a crawl and actions began to unfold in slow motion. I watched the teachers as they checked the coat nook, followed their line of gaze to the picture window that overlooked the toddler playground, felt their horror as it dawned on them that they had left her out there, alone. Then we all snapped into action, rushing out to the playground. And there she was, my sweet baby girl, standing next to the toddler slide where she had been playing contentedly. Unfazed by all the drama, she saw me, smiled, and toddled over to me with her arms stretched up to meet mine. I picked her up, and held her. For the longest time. I just held her.
She had been lost for fewer than thirty seconds. But it was thirty seconds in which I felt the most vulnerable I have ever felt as a mother. The terror I felt in those thirty seconds was the helpless kind where you suddenly understand, down to your very soul, that your whole world can be irrevocably snatched from you in an instant. Kind of like when you are in a near-miss car accident and suddenly you realize how vulnerable you are all the time, speeding along at sixty miles per hour, mere inches away from the other drivers who hold your life in their hands.
After I gathered her up and left, I called the director to let her know what had happened. Then I drove home and did the next logical thing:I posted my situation to Facebook and asked for advice. I say this partly in jest, but there is a a bit of truth here as well: my Facebook friends have gotten me out of many a prickly situation. Like the time I came home to a bird in my house, panicked because I had no idea how to remove said bird from my house, posted to Facebook, and was gently reminded that maybe I should open a window. Oh.
So I posted to Facebook. Basked in the communal sense of outrage. Read the varying suggestions about my next steps. Waited for the horrible, scared feeling to subside a bit (wine helped), and then sat back to ponder the situation.
To be fair, the rest of the children in the daycare room had just come in from outside. They were still taking their coats off. Baby Girl had only been alone for a minute and there's every possibility that the teachers would have realized she wasn't there in the next minute. In some respects, it was an issue of very bad timing: what are the chances that a parent would walk into the room at the exact moment a teacher had lost track of a child for a second? But there was also the haunting possibility that they wouldn't have realized their mistake, that she could have hurt herself, or been taken, or worse. And there was the simple, stark fact that a 14 month old should never be left on the playground alone. It should just never happen. Something went very wrong with a process that should have been in place to protect her.
There was a part of me that wanted to quit my job right then and there. To wrap her in my arms and hold her for the rest of her life. To protect her like a mother should. This anxiety I was feeling was not unknown to me; I had been in this place before. With all the losses that piled up prior to the arrival of my children, my life was a bundle of anxiety for a long time. My early days parenting Joseph were spent battling my overly active imagination that turned the smallest incident into something to be feared on a grand level. My pregnancy with Baby Girl was marked by the omnipresent feeling that something was going to go wrong (and not just in the normal "pregnancy is a bit anxiety-provoking' kind of way; more in the "I just woke my husband up at 2 am for the third night in a row, sobbing hysterically because I am convinced that I am going to die of the Swine Flu" kind of way). It's only recently that I've been able to trust in life again; to believe that I could sink into all this goodness and enjoy it without constantly worrying about the various ways it could be taken away from me.
So yes, there was a large part of me that wanted to pull her out of daycare completely. To take care of her myself and keep bad things from happening. But beyond the obvious financial and emotional ramifications of such a drastic choice, there was another a major problem with that logic: I'm not perfect either. Oh, I like to think I am. I like to believe that as long as my children are in my care, they are magically protected from harm. But in my heart of hearts, I know that this illusion of control is just that: an illusion. I'll be honest and admit that there have been many times when I've messed up and my children have gotten hurt or at least nearly so. I've bumped their heads on doorways, been too careless with my driving while they are the car, watched helplessly as they've fallen off ladders. And then there was the little incident that involved me bumping an axe off the wall of my garage and watching it miss my sweet baby boy's head by a fraction of an inch. Yeah, I'm not perfect. I can't protect my children from all harm, no matter how hard I try. None of us can.
If pulling her out of daycare wasn't an option, the next solution would be to switch daycares, immediately. This was a thought I entertained more thoroughly. It was a common suggestion to my dilemma on Facebook and I'm guessing it's the thing that most parents would recommend given the situation at hand. It's highly logical move. But. Baby Girl was happy at her daycare. Switching daycares with a 14 month old is not an endeavor to be taken lightly. She'd have to start the process of acclimating to a new environment and new teachers all over. This in and of itself is not reason enough to preclude a switch, but it's certainly a tally in the column of staying. Further, this daycare came with high recommendations from many people of varying backgrounds. In the world of daycares, it was one of the best. If something like this could happen there, it could happen anywhere. Switching daycares might feel good, but there would still be no guarantees that my daughter would be safe. The raw, hard truth is that anything can happen, anytime and anyplace. Life is fragile. There are no guarantees.
So I didn't switch daycares immediately. Instead, I talked to the director and the teachers and watched carefully for defensiveness in their responses. There was none. There was only contrition. And I questioned their processes. They had already recognized their error and had taken steps to fix it.
After all the talking, I chose to believe that it was a one time, fluke mistake that did not speak to the quality of the daycare as a whole. One of my Facebook friends commented that this was a compassionate response. To a degree, this is true. I do find it relatively easy to put myself in other people's shoes and I do seem to have an innate understanding that we are all flawed humans doing the best we can in a messy world (see above axe incident for proof of my own flawed humanity). But I think that it was more than a compassionate response: it was probably, in large part, a self protective response. I have to believe that it was a fluke mistake. Because if I start believing the inverse, if I return to imagining all the scenarios in which I could lose my children, if I spend all my time trying to do everything I can to protect them from any possible harm, I will not only go a little bit crazy, but I will lose the opportunity to live and enjoy the life that is right in front of me.
Don't get me wrong: I can be a mama bear when I need to be. My antenna is up, and if there is any further hint of misstep, there will be no third chances. But I don't think this is going to happen. My motherly instincts tell me that I can trust again. And in the end, motherly instincts are really all we have to go on. Now I just have to pray that mine are right.
Making
the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have
your heart go walking around outside your body.
—Elizabeth Stone
—Elizabeth Stone
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