The Golden Child

For the first year of his life, the wee lad rarely got sick and was generally a happy kid with few complaints. We counted ourselves lucky for this because we’re old and generally too incompetent as adults and couldn’t handle the stress of a baby with complicated issues. We’re also pretty sure this is because he was relatively isolated for the first year of his life.

Since he’s started daycare, however, he’s had pink eye, impetigo, a near constant cold, and increasing moodiness to the point where he’s been put in the naughty corner a few times. Basically, our golden child is becoming an actual human boy.

It’s gotten to the point that I pass by the other kids, taken to the centre in their parents’ BMW sport utility vehicles, and wonder if their parents chide them to stay away from my kid, lest they be exposed to the kinds of germs generally associated with the Poors. It’s like the daycare is an L.L. Bean catalogue and I’m Cousin Eddy from the National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

Next week, the daycare is doing an international pot luck featuring foods from the home countries of the children. It’s a nice idea, given the diversity of his class. We’ll be out of town that week so we’ll miss it, which is too bad, because I was looking forward to making my Kraft Dinner and Kam casserole.


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