Who Has Cared for Your Children?
Our childcare narrative beyond numbers and policies
Don’t forget there’s audio, you can click right here or find it in the podcast feed.
If you have been here a bit, you know I’m a fan of the
Podcast. They have a ritual on the show where they ask the guest “Who is caring for your children?”. I love this. It’s a nod at how care is always happening—somewhere, somehow. Currently, my two younger children attend half-day preschool and the older ones attend the local elementary school. My husband and I fill in the other spaces and I carry the label of the at-home parent.When we speak about childcare in the form of policy, it is about cost, statistics, and access, which is important. However, it starts to sound like a container in which you put a kid. It’s something you have or don’t have. It loses its complexity. It’s good or bad. I have never been a fan of false binaries. It is so much more complicated. It’s woven throughout your day, your weeks, and years. It’s a part of your child’s story but also yours as a parent and a family. And it never really stops—it just looks very different. Many of us get through one stage and move to the next. For some, their children will ultimately take on the tasks of their own care. For others with ongoing support needs, the care will involve entering new systems with different rules. And eventually, your children may care for others, whatever form that takes. It’s a humbling cycle to ponder and so much more than a spot at a daycare, enrolling at school, or leaving a career to be an at-home parent.
Our story
Our experiences as a family are not particularly extraordinary. Mostly mundane and typical, not good or bad per se. They are a collection of choices made within the constraints of a moment. Although difficult and limited at times, the choices afforded us came from privilege as a cis-gendered, white, hetero-normative married couple. It’s easy to list the series of our childcare choices to date:
Daycare
Nanny/Preschool/Public School
Stay-at-home parent/Preschool/Public School
But there is a lot more to the story— there are relationships, systems, and the greater culture and world that all play some kind of part.
One kid
About 12 weeks pregnant with my oldest, I first sought care for my child. I toured daycare centers using PTO. I had not yet informed anyone at work that I was pregnant. It was clear early on that you didn’t get to choose the daycare you liked best. You put your child on every waitlist. No place could tell you that in 9 months your baby would have somewhere to go. One of the local centers had explicit expectations on their website about how many hours your child could be in care there. Healthy child development was the reason cited. Our work schedules would exceed their limit. I felt judged as a working parent even before I publicly identified as one.
Following one tour, I texted my husband that I found where I wanted the baby to be. It had a great feel to it and a solid program. We got on their waitlist and IF we were to get a spot, it wouldn’t be in time for my return-to-work date. We joined other waitlists and eventually secured care at another daycare while we waited for the preferred one.
While we researched baby gear and prepared for our first child, we had to hope that it would work out—it usually worked out, right?
I returned to work when he was 11 weeks old. I had stopped working on my due date because I was miserable but he came at 41 weeks. I felt robbed of that week. My husband stayed home with him for a few weeks and then he went to our “temporary” daycare. This one catered to parents in healthcare and had longer hours than most sites. The schlepping of the car seat, pumped breastmilk, diapers, and labeled clothing began. Our son eventually transitioned to our first choice, a couple of months later. The infant room had a quiet, calm magical feeling with a plush carpet. Sometimes I wanted to curl up on it. Runny noses, fevers, and rashes were frequent.
He grew, moving through his milestones. He started solids. On a Monday we dropped him off after a weekend ambulance ride. He had anaphylaxis. One moment we were eating dinner and the next we were calling 911. Eventually, we would discover that he was allergic to 6 of the 9 top allergens. The subtle whispers of parenting that tell you, you have no control became a loud shout. We attempted to look calm and convey the severity while not wanting to alarm the staff. We gave them the facts. They took on the responsibility of protecting our child from the invisible danger of graham crackers and scrambled eggs. And then we went to work. I was not okay.
We learned about how to advocate and educate caregivers. We navigated the balance of supporting the needs of an individual within the context of a group. This is a skill we still use for health, learning, and well-being for our children’s needs.
Eventually, we fell into a routine. We cut lots of fruit into small pieces on Sundays for the week. We dropped him off in the morning sometimes in the dark. And we picked him up sometimes in the dark. In the car at the end of the day, he would chant, “All done, vroom-vroom.” He did not like the traffic, and neither did we. We relished pictures of his day from his caregivers, smiling and happy. We made friends with the other families. We went to play dates and birthday parties. We all shared our struggles, tips, and a compassionate glance when a child threw themselves to the floor in the lobby.
During the day at work, I would hear the stories of others. I learned about every setting of childcare and education out there in my role as a child psychologist. Daycare, babysitters, nannies, homeschool, public school, private school, medical daycare, extended family, stay-at-home parents, boarding school, and residential programs. Witnessing how others navigate the world of childcare, education, and mental health provides incredible perspective.
Two kids
Our second child would have a spot at daycare because siblings were prioritized on the waitlist. But he too would not be able to start by my return-to-work date. We hired a graduate student with great references for a few months. All was good at first. Then there were call-offs due to illness and then a family emergency. We were nervous. We were getting evening text messages informing us we would not have care the next day. We tried to be flexible. Eventually, she informed us she was not available to return. I used all the PTO I had. We worked a schedule between myself, my husband, and my mother-in-law who came from 4 hours and took her own PTO. At one point my son came to a work meeting, and I was both embarrassed and proud to show off his chubby cheeks.
He started daycare. We returned to the magical infant room. We continued to cut lots of fruit. They continued to grow. They moved up through the different age group classes and we found our way as a family of four.
In October 2018, someone full of hate entered the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh and killed 11 people and injured six. The Monday following this tragedy, I dropped my children off at their daycare which happened to be in a synagogue several blocks away from the Tree of Life. I left my children in the building with police outside. At work, I passed a co-worker whose son was in my child’s class. We could not look at each other. We were not okay.
Somehow you keep moving and they keep growing.
Three kids
Our third child was going to have a spot at the daycare that lined up with my return to work date. We encountered the infant room for the third time—still magical. At drop off and pick up, I pushed a double stroller through the center, and felt much like a bus. I loved picking them up and seeing their little faces at the end of the day. I despised getting them to the car. Most days my toddler would strip off his jacket, kick off his shoes, and run in a circle around the stroller as we approached the exit door.
We had a weekend birthday party in March and said “We will see you soon” to our friends. The world shut down days later. Soon was poorly suited to the situation.
As a leader in a behavioral health department, I worked with a team that worked to get services online rapidly. The team was amazing. I felt wholly incompetent. I nursed a baby, refereeing a bored toddler and preschooler while on conference calls. I questioned how I could be in this role with 3 young children. I didn’t know that most parents across the US were feeling incompetent. None of us were okay.
My husband is a pulmonary critical care physician. He was busy. Busy is not the right word either.
The young adult daughter of a physician volunteered to babysit for medical families. She came and played with my children while I got on Teams calls to figure out a workflow for our staff. We had an uncomfortable exchange where I forced cash on her. She just wanted to help. We connected with an infant room teacher who agreed to be our “lockdown caregiver”. She came to our house at 8:30 every day and stayed until 4:00. She kept them busy while I did teletherapy and meetings from my bedroom. In May, we drove through a parking lot full of cheering teachers for our son’s Pre-K graduation. I didn’t expect to cry but I did.
Daycare opened with reduced hours for the summer. We started to search for a nanny because we suspected the hours weren’t going to return to normal. We left that community at the end of the summer. A community we had expected to be with until all of our children transitioned to public school. A community of people who took care of our children and a group of families that we grew up with.
We hired a teacher who was moving back to the state. We were aware it was to be only a year. She was our Mary Poppins. My children danced with bridesmaids at her wedding. She navigated a new preschool for one of the children, the transition to hybrid kindergarten, and caring for our youngest.
Four kids
Our fourth child arrived in her last week of employment with us. We hired a new nanny who would start while I was on maternity leave. When I left work for leave, I fully intended to return.
I did not. There were many reasons we made the decision we did. I had said many times that for me personally, I was a better mom when I was working. This was true when I said it. And then I said I want to be more intentional at home. This was true, too. And both of these statements do not communicate all that exists below the surface. Neither is a complete picture.
Some assumed there must be a plan—like I was starting a private practice or perhaps we were recruited to another academic medical system. I had no plan but I needed to make a change. The nanny we had hired stayed until my leave would have ended and we paid her severance. In three months’, time everything had changed again.
I expected that now things would feel more in control, more orderly, and less messy. That expectation has not come to fruition. I was stretched across the developmental spectrum, unable to fully embrace any one stage my children were in. With four children all around 2 years apart, never fully exiting the witching hour. I was still cutting fruit into small pieces.
Now several years into being a stay-at-home parent, they continue to grow and change. And we keep moving forward. I no longer cut fruit into small pieces.
The constellation of care is like a living organism. Simultaneously changing alongside the humans that are growing and changing, too. Some experiences brought joy, community, safety, and awe. Others brought worry, fear, sadness, and loss. Skills blossomed for both child and parents. There is so much more. There were the drop-off and pick-up tears, favorite caregivers, summer camps, the get-well room (the sick daycare) or the time we went to watch Frozen 2 in a rented theater with all the daycare families. It’s too much to write here, it would be a novel. This makes sense because these are the stories of our family. We can’t separate childcare, it’s woven in.
As I wrote this out, I was struck by how this network of care extends. It is my husband and I, our family, the daycare, caregivers, the preschool, and the school. But it is more—it’s also the hospital support staff who called my patients to reschedule when I had a sick kid at home. It’s the airlines that brought my sister cross-country to stay with me in the week leading up to my due date so someone could stay with my older child just in case. It’s the dog sitter who took care of my aunt and uncle’s dog while they cared for children while I labored in the hospital. It’s the physician who stepped in to cover the Medical ICU so my husband could meet me at the ER with a sick child. When you sit to think about it, it starts to become dizzying just how connected we all are.
It's complicated.
Let’s shout about care together
There a many amazing people in the world who write about the joy and challenges of care with all its complexity. For incredible writing on this topic check out the below writers:
writes writes writes writes
This is so masterfully written. I have one child, she’s almost 4 and in a half-day preschool, and I’m amazed how much of my time is spent thinking about who will care for her next. My partner and I are fortunate to have fairly flexible schedules plus grandparents nearby, and still! Arranging childcare is a never-ending task. I can’t imagine how challenging that task is with four children! (And how incredibly daunting it was during the pandemic.)
Thank you so much for writing this, Kathryn ❤️
What a beautiful way to share your experiences; thank you. I am in the thick of sourcing childcare options for my fifteen-month-old as I'm due to start a PhD in October and live far, far away from family. In the UK, there can be quite a stigma around day care, for so many reasons, and I find myself feeling all sorts of emotions around the decisions we'll have to make soon. Your account, however, has encouraged me that the village that exists around us as we parents can be beautiful, and can include day care. Thank you, again, for sharing!