Yesterday, new Government rules designed to keep kids from catching bugs and viruses in child care, had everybody talking (you can read all about that here).
So in honour of those new rules and in the spirit of truthfulness about less-than-perfect-parenting, we wanted to share with you this excerpt from Sh*tty Mum: The Parenting Guide For The Rest Of Us, the New York Times bestseller.
*this post is designed to be tongue-in-cheek, not taken as serious advice, people…..
How to deposit your sick kid at childcare before the teacher figures it out.
If you read the headline and thought, ‘Oh, I could never do that! It’s so irresponsible! Just stay home!’, then this is not for you. Move along, princess. Enjoy your supportive husband or your family nearby or your boss who lets you work from home, or your own money, or whatever it is you have that allows you to react to a working mum’s dilemma with such horror.
Is she gone? Good. It’s time to discuss the only parenting topic more taboo than incest; taking your sick kid to daycare.
Let’s set the table properly so all concemed can understand what’s at stake. First off, you have a job. You can’t stay at home to care for your daughter and no one else is available either. Yes, you are aware that if you bring her to daycare, she’s going to get another kid sick. Well, you can’t think about that right now. Eyes on the prize: you have a job.
If you lose your job because you stayed home with your little baby, terrible things will happen. You will fall back on your rent or mortgage and you will be evicted. You and your child(ren) will be thrown onto the streets, in this economy. To pay for the seedy hotel that you now call home, you will sell your body. You will strut all over your corner (yes, you will secure a corner) and lean into car windows. You will negotiate the price of a blow job. And sister, they go for a lot less than they should.
And where are the kids during all this debauchery? If you couldn’t leave them home alone when you had a good job, you certainly can’t do it now. The kids are in your car, counting your money. For now, they don’t know how you earn it. All they know is: Mummy goes for a ride, then Mummy brings back $35. Ten or twenty times a day.
‘Well;’ you tell yourself, ‘at least they’re getting good at math[s].’