I had been quite lucky in the childcare department.
One day when my son was about four months old, I was walking down the road, and I had the thought: "What am I going to do about childcare?"
At that exact moment, a woman just ahead of me, who was juggling a tiny baby and a toddler, had a buggy mishap. I hurried up to help her, and we got chatting. I happened to ask what kind of childcare she used for her older son, and she said a lovely woman minded had him for the last couple of years and that he was now starting playschool. This was music to my always out for myself ears: I could muscle in on this woman's amazing childcare solution with little to no groundwork, research or effort on my part. Ideal.
Luckily my son's new minder accepted my proposal. And she was a godsend. I didn't even realise just how goddamn lucky I'd been to land her until a few weeks ago when she gave me her notice. In a single moment, I understood all the stress and anxiety other parents spoke about whenever the subject of childcare came up. I actually stress-cried on the spot – which I feel bad about as it definitely made my lovely minder feel worse.
"Stop being a wimp," I admonished myself, "she's given you six weeks notice for god's sake."
I embarked on the creche hunt with some very set ideas about what I wanted in a creche.
Nine phone calls later and my only requirement was that there were human people running the creche and that there was a front door (windows not essential) such was my desperation. The catchment area for my hunt was widening with every passing call – I went from 'must be within walking distance of house' to 'must be in Leinster'.
"Well, we've no openings right now, but I can put you on the waiting list though the next likely available spot is September 2018."
"WHAAAAAAAAT????"
On the 10th phone call, I actually relief-cried when the woman on the phone said the three magic words: "You're in luck..."
I barely heard the rest of what she said: fees, deposits, snacks, opening hours. We were saved, the Child wouldn't have to come to work with me and spend 8 hours in a cat carrier under the desk watching Thomas the Tank Engine on my phone.
However on closer inspection, there were compromises – aren't there always? Maybe parenthood should just be renamed "compromise-hood" or "Forget about whatever you thought was your bottom line-hood". The new set up would cost us an extra €120 a month, a month's fees had to be paid upfront for the deposit, the creche doesn't participate in the ECCE scheme, and I had no one to reassure me that this wasn't some upmarket industrial school.
I also felt like I had no choice.
The childcare issue has no easy solution. My advice? If you're pregnant, put their name down now – this is what one of the creche managers told me, no joke.
