Hi. You might remember me. I used to blog here. Then, about a month ago, my daughter, Emi, started preschool.

Mistakenly, my instinct was to send her off for her first day in something cute, like this, when instead, what she really needed was this.

Eight doctor visits, several colds, one stomach flu and four prescriptions for a particularly nasty and antibiotic-resistant ear infection later, I must say that I have been both awed and alarmed by the germ-generating potential of the two- to five-year old set. Both she and I were looking forward to preschool, so these developments left us a little bit unnerved, to say the least. I envisioned her bringing home finger paintings and macaroni collages, instead she brought home viruses. I thought I’d be more efficient than ever as a result of the extra child-care coverage, instead I missed days of work and conducted countless conference calls during Sesame Street.

On the day I totally lost it, my feverish child and I had just returned home from another trip to the pediatric office, where the doctor on call told me to “get used to it,” and that some moms he knows have just ended up quitting their jobs rather than deal with their kids getting sick all the time in a group-care environment.

In my exhausted, sleep deprived state; what I heard was “It’s your fault that your kid is sick because you a) work and b) send her to a germ-infested preschool.” Because really, isn’t it absurd that a mother might need to earn money that helps pay the mortgage, or that she might think her child would enjoy playing with other kids, or, God forbid, that she might simply want a few hours a couple of times a week where she can shower alone and finish a cup of coffee before it goes cold?

Perhaps he didn’t really mean it quite that way, but I find it hard to believe that this same doctor would have told my husband a similar story about all the dads he meets who leave their jobs because their kids come down with too many colds. Thinking about this at least made me snap out of feeling sorry for myself and — if only out of sheer annoyance at his pessimistic attitude — vow to not let this germ thing break us.

Yes, being up all night, missing work and experiencing my daughter’s first projectile vomit was stressful, but we all did manage to get through without me having to quit my job, or her becoming a three-year-old preschool dropout.

Life continues on, I’m back to working during daylight hours and Emi has returned to school without a biohazard suit. She hasn’t sneezed, coughed, thrown up or broken out in hives in approximately two weeks. And though I’m sure there will inevitably be more colds, sore throats and conjunctivitis to come, in the meantime she’s made some new friends, learned about ladybugs and brought me home a brilliant multi-colored macaroni collage.

By Shannon Matus-Takaoka

Labels: Shannon Matus-Takaoka

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