Day Care Revisited

Recently I had another fit of what I like to call, "Are my personal ambitions going to emotionally and/or physically harm my child?". Charlie does most picking up and dropping off of babies, so I don't have much of a relationship with the ladies that care for the babies at the Child Development Center (CDC) daycare. I worry about this lack of relationship because I worry that we will miss some important nugget of information or the babies will suffer some kind of "you're parents are stand-offish" neglect. Totally irrational, but there it is. Sadly, what I call, "building a relationship with the people who care for our babies", Charlie calls "shooting the shit with strangers", and he just doesn't do it. I haven't been much help.
One of the few times I did a drop off, I took Olivia in so I could go to the hospital to be with a very sick Isaac while Charlie came home to nap after his all night shift there. The ladies asked how Isaac was doing and I gave a report on his condition- out of ICU, they still don't know how long we will be there. I had no time or energy for the kids who weren't sick- in fact, the next day was E's birthday, and we didn't have her party together. I was stressed and exhausted and I immediately felt tears welling up at the ladies' display of concern and kindness. Embarassed and in a rush to leave, I turned and accidentally stepped on Olivia's hand. She had crawled back over to me to get some extra good-bye love. She started wailing and I started crying and it didn't do anything to instill confidence in my parenting abilities in either the CDC ladies or me.
Anytime a request or a suggestion comes from the CDC, I immediately worry we aren't doing something we should be. They suggested the babies come in shoes to play outside. Up to this point, we had only done socks. I immediately grilled Charlie, "Are the other babies wearing shoes?" (some of them) "How many?" (he doesn't know). I picture my babies as barefoot hillbillies with ice cold toes, crying while the other babies run around a tiny baby track, in tasteful comfort, provided by lovely, perfectly fitted shoes. The babies seem hungry in the morning and cry until they get breakfast at CDC, can we give them a little something before we bring them in? "How long has this been happening?!" (he's not sure, but they just mentioned it today). In my head the babies have been screaming for months, starving as hunger pains shoot through their little abdomens.
One comfort I have is that since I had the babies, I do most of my socializing at work with, obviously, other working moms. We commiserate and compare. We try to laugh away the guilt that comes with being a working parent.
One of the other moms said she had hoped to ease her son into staying home alone. Maybe start with a trip to Target on her own, or to get gas while he stayed home. Instead, he had to stay home for 4 hours, alone, for the first time while she attended a mandatory training, her daycare was closed and her husband was out of town. She called every 15-20 minutes to make sure he was staying clear of the stove.
A second co-worker confided that when she arrived at preschool with her four year old, they had the following conversation:
Co-worker: "Hurry up and get out of the car, let's go"
4YO: "I can't!"
Co-Worker: "What?! Why, let's go!"
4YO: "I don't have any shoes on! We forgot them!"

All of this makes me feel better. On good days, I think we will have self-reliant kids who are clever and resourceful and are OK with making mistakes and imperfection. Today is a good day, so I think I'll end it there.