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Childcare ... The C-word

I had planned on being a Homedaddy forever, until the other day when a careful study of our home videos confirmed my suspicion that Emma is growing. This is a shocker since I have not really been aware of time passing. In fact there have been serveral points, most notably, in the middle of the night when Emma is sick, when time has actually stood still. But there is no doubt about it, she is turning into a child, which is like a miniature person, only much louder.

At this rate, according to my calculations, she will eventually want to do crazy thing like have friends and go places with them. And where would I be then? A loopy house-husband with empty-nest syndrome, sitting around the house all day with my hair up in curlers, watching the Psychic Friends Network, or whatever atrocity will be passing for daytime TV when that time comes.

In order to stave off this brutal fate I have realized that I must make certain preparations for easing myself back into the work force, which means that I will begin taking some sporadic freelance work. But where, I hear you asking, will Emma be when both Julia and I are working? It is a good question, and since neither of us have extended families in the area, we have begun to confront the C-word ...

Childcare. It has such a brutal ring to it, after all these idyllic months of hanging around the house, changing diapers, doing dishes, and washing clothes ... on the other hand maybe it doesn't sound so bad after all. But how am I going to find it? I'm a guy who agonizes over where to take my car for new brake pads.

I imagined the worst. I dreaded visiting the Lord Of The Flies Kiddy Kare Center, where adults take a hands-off approach to teaching societal boundaries; the older, more experienced children set a strong example for the younger ones. The Unique curriculum encourages the children to develop valuable survival skills such as hunting wild pigs and building fires to signal for help.

If they didn't have an opening, we'd have to try Tater Tots (slogan: "For your little Couch Potato"), where all the kids are propped up in front of the tube in a filthy playroom where there are real potatoes growing in the sofa. The only soap on the premesis for years has been the daily TV fare.

If we were still out of luck we'd have to move on to the All You Can Be Bootie Camp where discipline and duty are drilled into the little ones till they function like well-oiled machines. The program features finger painting, nursery rhymes, and advanced weapons training.

In the end, as usual, the reality didn't come close to my paranoid fantasies. We found a wonderful homecare right in our neighborhood, run by a woman named Heidi who is so wonderfully sweet with the kids it would be nauseating if it weren't so totally genuine. We have begun taking Emma there for a few hours here and there, and the capper is that she really likes it.

True, she cries when we hand her over, but Heidi assured us that she cheers up as soon as we leave. I didn't take her word for it, though. I peeked through the window after stepping out the front door, and sure enough, as soon as she was sure I was out of earshot, it was party time. Made me wonder if it's a premonition of things to come.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.