Our young kid was meant to find happiness in her daycare. Then the crying and the tantrums started, and she began to hate the word “daycare” at every turn. We were broken when we discovered the horrifying reality that lay behind those sunny, bright doors.
My nightstand clock began to blink around 6:30 a.m. With a sigh, I prepared myself for more tears and outbursts in the morning. My husband Dave was beside me, stirring, the same worry engraved on his face that had become a specter over the last six weeks.
He said, “Maybe today will be different,” but his lack of conviction revealed his genuine emotions.
The image of our daughter Lizzie’s tear-stained face was still too vivid and recent for me to even attempt to express that meek ray of optimism.
This wasn’t always the case. Lizzie had been overjoyed when we first signed her up for Happy Smiles Daycare. Talking nonstop, our vivacious four-year-old was talking about the toys, the friendly teachers, the vibrant playrooms, and all the new friends she would be making.
Drop-offs were easy for the first several days; Lizzie was so excited that she almost dragged us through the doors. That exhilaration, however, was only present for two weeks. Then everything changed as if overnight.
It was initially met with resistance. sluggish steps and beseeching gaze.
Lizzie broke down in tears one morning as I put her into her favorite purple jacket. “Mommy, no childcare! Would you please? Don’t send me that way.
I froze, taken aback by the unexpected explosion.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? I assumed you enjoyed yourselves there.
With tears coursing through her small frame, Lizzie merely shook her head.
Dave stepped into the doorway, worry written all over his face. “Everything alright?”
I gave a head shake. “She is unwilling to attend daycare.”
“Camila, it’s just a typical childhood thing.” Dave reassured, “Don’t worry, she’ll be alright.
But in a matter of days, it became a full-fledged hysteria.
The word “daycare” turned our once-bubbly little girl into a screaming, sobbing disaster. The change was devastating and came on suddenly
.
We asked Lizzie several times, but she never answered. She refused to move, no matter how softly we prodded.
We made every attempt. Payments in kind, motivational speeches, and permission to bring her cherished plush animal, Mr. Snuggles, were all offered. Nothing was effective. We were all emotionally spent by the time the day started, since every morning turned into a struggle of wills.
We went to her childcare teachers, concerned. They told us that after we departed, Lizzie was okay. calm, a little reserved, but not overtly upset. My gut knotted with fear, and their words did little to release it.
I confided in Dave one night after yet another demanding day, saying, “I don’t understand.” She adored it there in the past. What might have been different?
Dave’s forehead wrinkled as he thought. Slowly, he said, “I have an idea.” “Though it’s a little unconventional, it could aid in our understanding of the situation.”
He revealed his scheme, which involved putting a tiny microphone inside Mr. Snuggles. It was an unsettling thought. It felt intrusive, like a betrayal of Lizzie’s confidence.
But remembering her face smeared with tears and her agonized cries, I realized we had to act.
I muttered, “Okay.” “Let’s take it on.”
We proceeded through our now-customary ritual of sobbing and pleading the following morning, with the microphone securely tucked inside Mr. Snuggles and connected to an app on Dave’s phone.
My stomach churned with shame and desperation as I strapped Lizzie into her car seat. We have to figure out what’s bothering her today, I reasoned.
Dave took out his phone and started the microphone app after we dropped her off at the daycare. We then withdrew to the parking lot.
We didn’t hear anything for a few minutes except the typical noises of a crowded daycare: kids laughing, toys clattering, and teachers giving directions.
Abruptly, a weird, muted voice broke through the din. We listened to it louder before freezing in fear.
“Hey, you whiner. Do you miss me?
We exchanged a look of shock with Dave. This was not a grownup. It was one more kid.
“Remember, the monster will come for you and your parents if you tell anyone,” the voice said again. That’s not what you want, is it?
Very barely discernible, Lizzie’s small voice said, “No, please go away.” I’m terrified.
Well done, girl. Give me your snack now. Regardless, you don’t deserve it.
As Dave’s hold on the phone grew tighter, terror overcame me. Were they bullying our daughter? How could the educators have overlooked it?
We ran back to the childcare without saying anything.
When we blasted through the doors, the receptionist appeared shocked. The Thompsons, Mr. and Mrs.? Is everything getting along okay?
“We must see Lizzie. Now,” Dave insisted.
She took us to Lizzie’s classroom, confused yet aware of our haste.
Our daughter was tucked in a corner with Mr. Snuggles pressed to her chest, as we could see through the observation window. With her hand out in anticipation for Lizzie’s snack, an older girl towered over her.
The teacher came over to us, anxiety on her face. Is there a problem?
Dave just played the recording, not saying anything. As she listened, the teacher’s eyes grew wide with fear.
She pointed to the elder female who was frowning and murmured, “That’s… that’s Carol.” But I haven’t ever seen… I was unaware of that.
With my defensive instincts fully activated, I yelled, “Well, now you do.” And you intend to take action in response to it.
The next sixty minutes were a blur of activity. Both Carol’s parents and the daycare director were contacted. We showed the recording to everyone, and we saw the expressions on their faces change from astonishment to incredulity to humiliation.
The childcare director apologized profusely and, with a pale face, informed us that Carol would be kicked out of the program right away.
But getting to Lizzie was the only thing on my mind.
Lizzie’s eyes brightened with both relief and anxiety as we walked into the classroom.
“Mom! Daddy! She ran into our arms, crying.
Her little body trembled against mine as I hugged her tight. I whispered, “It’s okay, sweetheart.” “We have complete knowledge. You’re secure now.
Lizzie started opening up as we drove home, in between hiccupping sobs.
She gave Mr. Snuggles a closer hug and murmured, “Carol said there were monsters in the daycare.” “Sharp-toothed, large, frightening ones.” She showed me images from her phone.
Carol said the monsters would come and hurt you and Daddy if I told anyone.
Dave’s knuckles went white when he gripped the driving wheel. Oh, my dear, no monsters exist. Carol told you falsehoods.
“But the images…” With a trembling lower lip, Lizzie insisted.
I grabbed her hand with my back. Sweetie, those weren’t genuine. Carol was being really cruel and made up lies to frighten you. At this point, both Mommy and Daddy are safe.
She cried, “I apologize for not telling you. “I felt so afraid.”
Squeezing her hand, Dave reached back. Pumpkin, you have nothing to regret. We are so proud of you for your bravery.
Dave and I sat on the couch, exhausted emotionally, while Lizzie slept soundly for the first time in weeks that evening.
Feeling guilty, I muttered, “I can’t believe we didn’t see it sooner.”
Dave drew me in. “We kept going until we figured out what was wrong because we sensed something wasn’t right. That’s the important thing.
The next few days were difficult. Lizzie remained at home while we looked for a new daycare that would have more stringent supervision and a zero-tolerance bullying policy.
In order to assist Lizzie in processing the trauma, we also enrolled her in a child psychologist.
We were taken aback when Carol’s parents contacted us. They asked if we would be willing to meet, embarrassed by what their daughter had done. We decided after great deliberation.
Although the meeting was uncomfortable, it became evident from our conversation that Carol had been having her own problems.
Her parents had recently divorced, and she had been misbehaving in ways that they were unaware of. They wanted to make apologies and they were getting her aid.
Carol’s mother sobbed as she spoke, “We’re so sorry.” Carol’s ability to do this was unknown to us. We fully understand if you wish to take additional action, and we’re taking steps to address her behavior.
We looked at each other, Dave and I. I spoke gently and replied, “We appreciate your honesty.” As of right now, getting Lizzie to feel safe again is our first priority. But let’s hope Carol also receives the support she requires.
Lizzie tugged at my hand as we left the gathering. She muttered, “Mommy, how did you know I was scared at daycare?”
Unsure of how to describe our unconventional approach, I hesitated. I tapped her on the nose and finally grinned. “Because parents are superpowerful people.” We always know when our young ones require assistance.
Lizzie’s astonished gaze expanded. “True?”
I told her, “Really.” And you can always count on us to protect you. whatever the circumstances.”
I made a silent promise to myself that as long as Lizzie was around, I would always follow my gut. Though we were fortunate this time, the experience had given us priceless insight: there is never a point to being too involved or cautious when it comes to our kids.
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