The Worst Day

Unfortunately, this isn't a snarky First World Problems post about how life is so hard because my 10 weeks of summer freedom are almost over. That's certainly true, but this week I had what was legitimately a horrifying hour.

It's a super long story with all kind of gory details, but I will try to be brief. It will be a challenge because to really understand it a lot of back-story is required, which I don't feel like giving, and you don't really care anyway. But we need this to be short-ish. Because a) who wants to read a long, sad story? No one; b) I can't keep re-living it and still keep my sanity; c) the events and details are less significant (at this point) than the awful mess that has resulted. And when I say awful mess I mean me. I'm the awful mess.

Tiny bit of exposition: We had to pay Emma's babysitter half for the summer to save her spot. The bad part--I'm not getting paid, but we still need to fork over the money. The good part: she has to watch Emma whenever because I'm paying her. Last week she was sick, so she was unable to watch Emma. She was (purportedly) ready to start up again this Tuesday. So I dropped Emma off on Wednesday for what was supposed to be a couple of hours so I could take Ben on a date to the fair. I told her I'd probably be back before Emma's nap around 1:30, but that I would call to confirm. When we were about to pull into the fair parking lot, Ben decided he wanted to go to the park instead. So we went to the park. I called the babysitter to let her know of the change in plans, and that I would be picking Emma up around 1:30. She didn't answer so I left a message. A little while later I hadn't heard back confirming she'd got the message, so I called again. Left another message. I called her cell phone, which didn't ring and went straight to voicemail. I left a message. At 1:15 I called again. Still no answer on either phone. I was getting frustrated because I wanted to make sure she didn't put Emma down for a nap before I picked her up. Ben and I went to get icees, then we got to the sitter's at 1:45. They weren't there. I called again. No answer. I looked around the small complex to see if they went for a walk. No sign. The neighbor, whom I've met, asked if I was looking for her. I said yes, and that she had Emma. The neighbor flipped out. She started saying that I needed to find a new sitter, that she (the neighbor) was tired of covering for her (the sitter), that she's (the sitter) been lying about so many things, and that she (the neighbor) was done. I started to panic. Another neighbor came out and offered Ben and I some water (it's about 90 degrees). We walked over to the pool and put our feet in. I called Matt. I was getting increasingly terrified. The neighbor was telling me about how the sitter's been lying about her meds, inadvertently abusing them, isn't supposed to be driving, and had drastically underplayed how bad she was last week. And many many other things. The fear, terror, guilt, and 8,000 other emotions were building. Ben wanted to swim. I told him to strip down to his undies and go for it. Another neighbor brought us towels. Another went to the store to look for her. Matt left work and headed to us.

Around 3:00 she pulled up, at about the same time as Matt. She was baffled that I was upset.

I can't even begin to explain what I feel. There were things that happened to me by babysitters when I was little. With this event, I'm terrified to ever leave my children with another human being. The thought of leaving them to go back to work leaves me paralyzed with sadness, fear, guilt, and terror. But I don't have a choice. I don't work, we can't pay our bills. Have I mentioned guilt yet?

It will take me a long time to process all of it. Maybe a decade of therapy. Or maybe I'm just being dramatic.

For now, I'm trying to be grateful that a) Emma is safe and b) it's still August 10. I don't have to leave Emma with anyone for another three weeks.

But seriously. If you want to know what the most terrifying hour in your life looks like, I can fill you in.