welfare mom me!
I feel the need to purge (journalistically speaking, of course).
By trade (career), I am in social services. I help people, mostly poor people. It is pretty much all I've ever done and all I know.
Yesterday hubby & I brought baby in for his well-baby checkup. Baby is on hubby's insurance, since my health insurance would charge extra out of my check to add him. Hubby's doesn't, meaning both baby & I can get on there for free. OK.
After three well-baby appointments in the past, hubby & I were dismayed to find a bill of over $300 from baby's pediatrician. Turns out that hubby's insurance doesn't pay for well-baby checkups. However, if we don't take our baby to well-baby checkups, we can be reported to Child Protective Services. *sigh*
So, yesterday, the three of us went to the city's free clinic. Actually, the checkup was at the W!C office. We don't even qualify for W!C, but we qualify to use their Public Health Nurses for well-baby exams, since it's a free service. So we trucked in there, sat around with a bunch of moms waiting for their formula/food vouchers, & filled out forms. No nice, expensive artwork on the wall like at the pediatrician's, just anti-drug & anti child abuse posters. The baby got his shots, and we left after being given a bunch of freebie pamphlets on babies & parenting.
Later that day I went to a Childcare Locater place. I was alone, and, still being so upset about the thought of moving my baby to a new provider, was teary eyed while sitting in the well-used waiting room. Again, more paperwork here, and a staffmember led me kindly to a lady who sat me in her cubicle and did a childcare search for me. Now I have nine places nearby my home that are licensed for babies. Hubby & I just need to start calling and seeing who has openings in Sept. The prices are all from $500-675 a month. Ouch. Sorry mom, it looks like I won't be able to make it to Se@ttle for your brain surgery after all.
So, it was a real switcheroo yesterday. I told hubby I felt like a welfare mom (please, no angry comments on this- it's my diary and I'll say what I want). The helper being the helped (helpee?) It was backwards, strange, and I'll admit....humbling.
I'm slipping; I can feel it.