The room was dimly lit, or at least seemed so. The two daycare bosses sat on one side, we sat on another, with the big boss, the woman who we ventured into the depths of city to meet, sitting off by herself, eyes slightly closed, talking softly, giving us the crazy parent shut down stare.
We were there to discuss how our daughter’s daycare keeps giving her milk, when milk sends her into anaphylcatic reactions. We were there to discuss the letter we sent demanding that the daycare be reorganized, that they start an allergy daycare, that they find us another spot.
And the big boss was clear. The daycare does not need reorganizing and there will be no allergy section. The big group – six teachers supervising 36 toddlers – works just fine. The latest incident was a simple case of staff failure.
Then she proceeded to tell us that they would reorganize the daycare so NK gets a smaller lunch group. She offered us a spot in a special needs daycare because there are more trained staff and smaller groups there. Then she offered us a spot in another daycare, one with smaller groups.
Hmmm, that big group is just dandy, isn’t it?
During the meeting, I was so offended that I had to hold on to the chair so I did not start yelling in English, or run out of the room. I suffered through awkward pause after awkward pause as everyone fell silent in this swirl of mixed messages.
After the meeting, as I secretly changed the baby’s diaper in the corner of the library, with NK smashing peas into the floor nearby, I realized that, actually, they gave us everything we wanted, poisoned by the nasty attitude.
But I will have to rise above my reflected spite and find a way to walk up the hill to daycare again and drop off my little girl, for that new lunch group is a good solution.
But I will not like it.