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It’s been a long weekend. Not for the “Whee! Fun times! Long weekend! Let’s tear shit up!” experience I would have so longed for in my pre-baby days. No, those days are long gone. And, honestly, while those days were fun, my liver didn’t always appreciate them as much as I’d like, so it’s probably for the best.

No, the long weekend was due to a strange set of circumstances, that were set in place by the unfortunate reality of having a child in daycare. The call came in at the most inopportune moment: Thursday afternoon – my husband’s regularly scheduled overnight. He called me at work, which hardly ever happens.

Uh, hi, honey. I just got a call from the daycare and the baby has a 103 degree temperature.

There are few things that set me in motion faster than news that my little one is one degree away from potential hospitalization. I’ve moved quickly when I realized the tickle on my arm was indeed small spider. I’ve jumped pretty high at the sudden backfiring of car. I’ve screamed involuntarily at the sound of lightning cracking too closely over my head. But the reality that my little guy having to go to the emergency room is one that puts all those adrenaline filled experiences to shame.

I put my out of office on at work, call my boss, who’s literal reaction was “Go! Go! Go!” but then “Did you update your payroll?”

Go! Go! GO! Wait, did you update your payroll?

So, taking a minute to do the accounting of my newly earned then quickly burned vacation time, I sigh and sign off for the next day. Because the daycare’s rule is that my son has to be fever free for 24 hours before he can return, I have to burn the next day too, since my husband won’t be home from his business trip until late Friday afternoon.

I pick up the baby, only to find they didn’t give him the tylenol we’ve left for him for a reason that didn’t make sense. So, in spite of depriving him medicine to help his fever, he doesn’t really feel that hot. The new girl (who I am on the fence about to begin with) doesn’t have the incident report for me to sign (standard practice), which sets off another red flag for me. I get him home and am only able to register him at 100.3 degrees. Still not great, but not as scary as 103. We give him some advil, his sippy cup and he falls asleep on me until it’s time to go to the doctor’s appointment.

At the doctor’s office, they aren’t able to read much of a fever either, by now the advil helping him significantly. She doesn’t find anything wrong with his ears, throat or sinuses. She thinks he might just have a cold and wants to wait it out before putting him on yet another round of antibiotics. I’m fine with this.

But, as the weekend progresses, his low grade fever doesn’t go away. His cold seems not to be resolving, so while we’re doing our best to get him rested and back to school, it’s not looking good. Graciously, my husband gets him an afternoon appointment for Monday, so hopefully, we get an answer. I hate putting him on antibiotics unless it’s absolutely necessary, but we’ll know soon either way.

Hopefully the fever breaks and he can go back to school. I’m planning on discussing my issues with the daycare, specifically with the new girl they’ve hired, who’s demonstrated nothing but general incompetence to me. I want the old girl back, but she’s transferred to the other center. My son misses her too. She’s the only person he’ll literally run to, and she genuinely loves him. The new lady seems just frenetic and shady, and while she does okay with the kids, she has no idea on how to work with the parents.