“I don’t wanna touch the poohey…”
“Buddy, you and me both,” Nettie retorted passionately – and swallowed back a gag as she saw the string of snot from one shoulder trailing to Samson’s face in the mirror. “I cannot do this,” Nettie hissed hotly, reaching for the child’s poop covered hand. “Wash it…”
“I don’t wanna touch it…”
“You did a few minutes ago…”
“It’s dirty…”
“It’sverydirty – which is why we are washing it,” she chided. “Get the soap andoh my gosh, use lots of it. I mean, soap those fingers really well… no, don’t wipe your face,” she gaped in horror as the child was about to use his filthy fingers to wipe his nose. David looked at her – and began to wail again – this time louder than Samson.
“Oh Lord, I am hitting my limit really quickly here…” Nettie prayed aloud as the order of demands in her mind just became abundantly clear what had to be tackled first for her own sanity. She walked out of the bathroom, set Samson down, and marched back in to scrub David’s filthy hands.
Forty more minutes.
Forty minutes of chaos, crying, and crayons. Then maybe—just maybe—she’d let Gina drag her somewhere as an escape. Her friend had been there to pick her up off the ground several times, for several reasons, and even if her idea of having fun or Shannon’s idea of what ‘partying’ was like were completely different from her own?
Sometimesdifferentwasgood.
Necessary.
Because for all her chaos, Gina and Shannon had one superpower: they could never let Nettie stop looking forward. If she stumbled, one of them was there to help pick her back up and keep her marching along.
Always looking forward, burying the past hurts and memories.
Forty miserable, soul-sucking, clock-watching minutes later, Nettie finally clocked out of the daycare. She couldpractically feel the tension sliding off her shoulders the moment her thumb jabbed the button and the little machine beeped her freedom. If it weren’t for the fact that a professional cleaning crew came in every night, she was pretty sure she would have quit right there on the spot, badge tossed into the trash on her way out. There wasn’t enough money in the world for her to fish crayons out of nostrils, clean up the latest epic diaper disaster, or survive another “first” in her personal history of childcare horror stories.
And today?
Today had delivered a doozy.
Samson had cried so hard during pickup that he’d triggered a chain reaction of bodily functions no one should have to endure. One second, Nettie had been juggling him and trying to keep her voice soothing, the next she’d returned from cleaning up poor little David in the bathroom - again… only to step straight into a puddle of fresh vomit on the tile. Her sneaker had skidded, her arms had pinwheeled, and for one horrifying second, she’d imagined herself going down in slow motion, face-first into the mess. Somehow, by sheer miracle, she’d caught her balance—but the mental scar would last forever.
That had been her limit. And the limit was so close now she could practically smell the fumes off the freight train that was barreling toward it. But it was always like this.
Always.
Back-to-school season was the worst time of year. Kids returned like tiny, smiling plague carriers—miniature petri dishes with pigtails and Spider-Man backpacks—dragging back every germ, bug, and virus from the outside world and kindly sharing them with their classmates, their teachers, and of course, with Nettie herself. Didn’t matter the age, school district, ethnicity, or home situation—if one child had the flu, everyonewas exposed. And Nettie, apparently, had signed up to be on the front lines of the ultimateGerm Warfare.
She pushed open the daycare’s heavy glass door, bracing herself for the late-afternoon temperatures that clung to the parking lot. She hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting for her, much less Gina—but there she was. Her best friend sat perched on the trunk of her little silver sedan, legs swinging like a kid on a playground swing, grin wide and unapologetically mischievous.
Relief punched through Nettie’s exhaustion.
“Hey!” Gina called the second their eyes met. “Did ya make it?”
“Barely,” Nettie groaned, dragging her bag higher on her shoulder. She felt like the day itself had clung to her skin. “Don’t get me started. I’d rather live vicariously through you tonight because I know you’ve got something shiny to celebrate. Me? I’m just ready to bleach the memory of today out of my brain.”
“Back to school heebie-jeebies?”
“You know it.” Nettie blew a stray curl out of her face. “Oh—and teething. Don’t forget teething. If you’ve never seen a twelve-month-old bite the ear off a Care Bear like it personally offended them while something is rolling down their nose, you haven’t lived.”
“I thought those were fabric or made with fleece?” Gina made a confused face, her lips parted into an ‘O’, before she gave a dramatic shudder at Nettie’s flat expression, confirming the woman’s thoughts. “That does it. I think I’m gonna get off the pill and just have everything removed. Rip it all out. The ‘bakery’ is officially closed for life – per middle management.”
Nettie barked a laugh, quick and sharp. “Ya know, if I had a reason to even be on the pill, I might agree with you after today.”
Gina slid off the car, landing with a bounce. “Uh-uh, nope. We arenotgoing down the ‘Poor Nettie’ road tonight. You know the rules. The past is like our butts – behind us.”
“Your rules,” Nettie muttered. “Not mine.”
