I fear I may have once again screwed the proverbial pooch, this time concerning the nursery staff at the YMCA.
Here's the backstory: When Jax was about 2 months old, we used our Family Friday privileges at the Y, leaving the kids there for the evening, the first time we'd done so since Jaxson was born. So there we are, all kicked-back in the movie theatre, enjoying the undeniable chemistry between Brad and Angelina, when my phone goes off. They wanted to inform me that Ryan had had an accident, and could we please come get her?? She'd been there 45 minutes. Not a problem, I'd replied, I packed an extra set of clothes in her backpack, just for this exact emergency -- would they be so sweet as to change her and for the love of Christ let me watch my damn movie? No dice, they replied; health codes and all that nonsense. As I'm finishing this call, Shawn exits the theatre, listening intently to his phone, then handing it to me so I could hear the message. This time it was the nursery letting us know that our 8-week-old was demanding to be held in the way that 8-week-olds are known to do. As the message is ending, my phone starts vibrating, the nursery having given up on reaching Shawn and turning to me in a frantic state, requesting we come pick up our son because he sure is crying a lot and they are tired of dealing with it. When I head into the Y, my heart sinks as I see Ryan sitting forlorn and alone while the rest of the kids are corralled aaaaaallllll the way over on the other side of the playscape area, in an all-too-obvious effort to ensure no other children catch the pee-pee bug. So I rush-walk to Ry, trying not to make her feel any worse or stand out any more than she already does, helping her into her new outfit in the bathroom, wiping her tears, cursing the fuckers who made her feel like a freak for having an accident. When I finally enter the nursery to retrieve Jaxson, I scan the room, bracing myself to find a screaming, crying mess of a baby. Funny thing about those fussy babies, you usually find them in some state of tantrum, but not my fussy baby. When I finally do see him, he's fast asleep. Strapped in his car seat. Meanwhile, every single other baby in the place is wailing. Not quite sure how to react, I merely walk over to him, not saying a word when, out of nowhere, Bitchy McBitcherson accosts me, assuring me Jax has just now quieted down and stopped crying, and they "really are not equipped" to watch babies who are as needy as my son appears to be(because we all know what a pain in the ass sleeping babies are). I look at her, turn away, and walk out, running into another mother arriving to pick up her baby, having been pulled out of the exact same movie at the exact same theatre. When we gathered outside with our ostracized children, she informed me that McBitcherson was always pulling this crap -- her's was also A-OK when she arrived, although they had also assured her that he had been as frantic as Jax. Having seen Bitchy act horribly to other parents in the past, with no sense of discretion or tact whatsoever, I decided I'd had enough, and left a comment card alerting them to the fact. To make a long story longer, I told them I really didn't mind coming to get my kids, but that I was soooo over the 'tude, and if she didn't ease up, I'd do something drastic. I didn't see Bitchy again for at least 2 months, when I again brought Jax for Family Friday and was gingerly approached by the director asking if I would be okay with McBitcherson watching Jax. I insisted my only beef was with her attitude, and as long as she was cool, I was cool. As I locked the evil eye on Bitchy, handing Jaxson over, she wanted to know if everything was ok now; I said yes, and then she went and pissed me off by saying, "Good! Cause last time you were all *makes crazy lady gestures*, you know?"
Cut to last night when we arrived to pick up the kids and were told by not one, not two, but three different staff members that Jax was awful: crying, gnawing (could he be teething??), just all around fussy. I guess I've scared the shit out of these people because I never once got a phone call, and by the frazzled looks of the staff, they were all itching to dial. What really sucked was there was no joy in it all for me, because the staff member I LOVE was on duty (no Bitchy in sight), leaving waves of guilt washing over me, rendering me useless against apology-speckled diarrhea of the mouth. Shawn finally just shoved me out the door as they were turning out the lights.
Luckily, our arrival home quickly healed the Stigmata wounds I was sporting, as we turned around to see Ryan gazing out the window, Jax passed out, both of them holding hands across the backseat of the car.
I don't know whose kids those babysitters were referring to; our children are ANGELS.