We started creche two weeks ago, properly. For two glorious mornings a week, I drop E off at the creche around the corner from our house for four and a half hours, where he tires himself out and I get some time to collapse, do the dishes, maybe potentially get some writing done and clear a path in our apartment around the eternal mess of toys ( a pointless exercise but it makes me feel better). There’s even been thoughts of having time to do driving lessons or hair cuts in this time – oh, the glamour.
It’s been great. He’s gelled with the girls who run the creche, he’s never once yet had a tearful goodbye (might be something to do with him not noticing me leave), and he’s happy to play with their toys for the few hours that I relish my child free time for. Since I’ve been off work, I’m remembering just how tough maternity leave was; life at home with a kid full time is not easy and anybody who tells you it is has either been sleep and regiment training their child from day one, or has hired help. And far more resilience than I do. This is however my fate for the moment, so the creche is definitely a help for both of us; I’m pretty sure by his reaction when his Daddy walks in the door that he’s sick of the sight of me, not that I blame him, so it’s a nice break for him and he gets to learn how to interact with other children. Win win.
Until the inevitable happened. I should have known it wouldn’t be smooth sailing for long, that would be far too easy. I’d seen others mentioning creche-itis/school-itis/interacting-with-other-disease-riddled-children-itis but silly me, thought nah, not for us.
He’s in the creche two weeks and already has a double ear infection and his second bout of tonsillitis in four months. My doctor laughed when she diagnosed it and informed him that there are easier ways of missing his vaccines (his 13 month one was scheduled that day). “It’s going”, said the creche worker this morning. So is my sanity, I thought. The last three days have been spent trying to force-feed the child Augmentin, which is just as foul smelling and tasting as it was when I was a child. I’m actually transported back to childhood and refusing to take it myself when I get a whiff of it. You’d think in twenty odd years they’d manage to make the stuff chocolate flavoured and not stinking of death and neglect. Get on it, pharmacists of the world.
He’s not taking to it well. For a child who has a rather alarming attachment to the nurofen syringe, he takes off in the other direction when he sees this stuff. He’s in pain, with his two ears and his throat acting against him. He’s off his food. And he’s taking it out on my house, wreaking havoc and wreckage wherever he goes. I hear tales of people whose sick children lie on the sofa, moping, watching all sorts of crappy TV, but not my boy. Unattended for literally five seconds, an entire Ella’s Kitchen smoothie found its way smeared all over the glass coffee table and all over the jumper he’d been dressed in ten minutes earlier. His fascination with the sweeping brush means that we wound up buying him his own mini one (with matching dustpan and brush), so everything is being shoved around the floor. I look back wistfully at the days where he lay on the mat and didn’t move, it was so much easier to live with.
I’ve resorted to just using the buggy for nap times and making myself head to cafes where I can sit and write (poor me). He’s currently snoring while the noise of the coffee maker whirs in the background, albeit a lot quieter than our War of the Worlds-esque Nespresso machine (it’s not just ours, is it?). Peace, at last. Until next antibiotic time.
God, I hate creche-itis.