FSU Child Development Center

I don't know what I expected.  I guess I imagined rows and rows of screaming infants, all wanting to be held, stinking like poo, red faced and ignored behind grey bars in a cavernous hall painted white.  Where do I get these images?  I have seen one too many documentaries about the orphanages in the former Soviet Union and Romania.

Last week we put "Geneva the fetus" (I'll add this to the nickname list - the S is silent) on the wait list to get in to the child development center at FSU.  We are having a baby and I still want to complete my degree and one day get a J.O.B. that pays actual money - well, money that I'm worth.  Luckily we have the option of an extraordinarily cheap and pretty excellent childcare facility.  We just have to get in...

Jason, my mom, and I made an appointment to meet with Jennifer, a 14 year employee of the FSU child development center, in the early afternoon on a Monday for our guided tour.  I asked my mom to come with us because she has seen lots and lots of these types of facilities - both good and bad.  I wanted to make sure we were looking at the right things, sweeping our white glove over the right surfaces if you will.

The childcare facility is located in the middle of Alumni Village.  It's an old, externally run down apartment complex just off campus restricted to FSU students.  From what I hear the residence hall is geared toward students with families.  It looks a little sketchy but I think it's just an old facility.  There are sidewalks and lawns and it's college.

Jennifer began the tour by explaining the security door and the sign in policy.  Jason and I will have a punch code and can come and go as we please.  When we arrive in the morning we sign Geneva in and then hand the caregiver our baby.  Then, apparently I cry.  I think I almost cried standing there considering delivering Geneva to someone else to care for while I work.  Jennifer made some noises about how babies adjust quickly and that it's no big deal and how all her kids went here...I think I heard some stuff she was saying.

This was all before we went to the infant room.  The infant room is a short covered walk up a little hill next to a Japanese pear tree.  There is a patio out front with a giant umbrella mounted on a swing arm.  On beautiful afternoons they bring the babies outside to coo in the sun.  When we entered everything was quiet.  One caregiver was feeding a baby in her lap and there was another child lying quietly on the floor.  We were asked to remove our shoes to look around because the infants crawl all over the rugs.  There are three rooms in the little building: a kitchen, a play room, and a quiet room for sleeping.  Each infant has a little cubby box and hook, a crib, and bed linens.  There are no TVs and Enya was playing softly on the speakers piped throughout.  The sleeping room had eight little wooden cribs lined up neatly.  There was a large glass window so the caregivers could see the sleeping infants but otherwise the room was kept quiet and dark.  The kitchen was big and bright and had two refrigerators in it.  I can come nurse any time I want and can store up to 6 months worth of milk in the infant kitchen.

The ceiling, walls, corners, nooks, toys, heck - the entire facility was clean.  There wasn't a speck of dog hair anywhere, which is more than I can say for my house.  There were very few toys on the floor (easier to clean I assume), the room smelled nice and fresh.  The lights were low and all the caretakers were calm, happy, and seemed to enjoy their jobs judging by how long each had been employed there.  They seemed genuinely delighted to meet us and willing to answer all of our questions.  We left feeling confident in our decision and hopeful that we will get in.

So, while I write in my office on campus, less than a mile away, Geneva will take long stroller rides around Alumni Village with 3 of her closest mates, read stories, sing songs, have tummy time, lounge under the umbrella, sip gourmet milk, and take long cozy naps.

I don't think I'll cry...much.