It’s Not All Mary Poppins

Reeling, I Am

It’s been an eventful week, and no, I’m not talking about the painting.

I’m talking about the pooing. Oh, the pooing. (WHAT? Why haven’t you mentioned this before?? Well, because there are only so many things I can talk about in one post a day. Lots of things happened: Our van is having work done on a radiator that blew up this week. I’ve been sewing up a storm for Emma’s costume for her school musical. I also had a couple of interviews – and have one person who has said she’ll be signing on. Yahoo! So, lots of things.)

Back to the pooing. Oh, the pooing. There’s a reason George and Darcy have revisited the topic in their play.

It seemed innocuous at first. Little Nigel is on antibiotics for an ear infection, and of course it’s effected his gut: lots of…activity. This is not a “keep-the-child-home” event, as it’s not contagious. Inconvenient for me, no doubt, but not contagious, and, despite a couple of up-to-the-armpits explosions of green goo – don’t you just love scooping the stuff out of a child’s bellybutton?? – nothing too out of the ordinary. As long as it’s not contagious.

Then a mommy was sick for a day. Then the mommy’s son came down with it. Then another tot had a bout of the oozing ick, and had to go home mid-day. Then another child was kept home. Then one of the after-school boys had a violent bout of losing everything possible from both ends, all one long, long night. He’s home sick now. A daddy collapsed with an exceedingly violent bout. Seems the older you are, the worse it is. Emma is laying on the couch looking green even as I type, tentatively nibbling on a slice of dry toast after a night of spewing.

I was marvelling over this in the “fascinated by the horror” way you watch the replay of a nasty skiing fall, or the pictures of a multi-car pile-up in the paper, with the father of the only child who has NOT succumbed.

“Wow,” said the dad. “Isn’t that wild? My child had diarrhoea for four nights running, ending a couple of nights ago. One bout at three a.m., every night. Apart from that, they’ve been perfectly normal.”

PARDON?? Your child had the squits at three in the morning, and you sent him to me five hours later? THREE DAYS RUNNING? (Four nights, three days because there was a weekend in there.) And you don’t SEE ANY CONNECTION between that, and the mysterious spread of this disease to EVERY OTHER KID in the daycare? And now you’re TELLING ME????

I didn’t kill him. Because I am a professional. And he’s evidently an idiot. Didn’t even see the significance of what he was telling me, nor grasp the mind-numbing irresponsibility of it. You can’t get mad at the mentally deficient, now, it’s just not fair.

At the end of that day, when I’d had time to calm down, I had a quiet talk with him about my sick child policy, of which he claimed to be completely unaware. (Oh, come on. Most parents give me a phone call when something like this happens, just to find out what I think. Like I should need a policy to promote common sense? Though of course, I do need one. Which is why I HAVE ONE IN THE CONTRACT.)

Today I sent an email to the entire daycare list, reminding them of said sick child policy which states that children are to be kept home for 24 hours following vomitting, diarrhoea, and/or a fever above 100F/37.5C. Just in case anyone else is thinking of losing their minds.

I’m still reeling. A child has diarrhoea every night for four nights, and you send them to daycare. What was he thinking?

It’s enough to make a woman want to call in sick.

March 2, 2006 Posted by | Uncategorized | 19 Comments