The sequence of emotions that follows seeing the daycare provider’s number on your caller ID in the middle of the day, like I did yesterday, really sucks.

First ring: you get that pit in your stomach and your hands tingle (not in the good way, like when you’ve had a bit too much wine, but the holy crap something horrible just happened way.)

Second ring: you are certain your child has lost an eye, has broken something or has simply stopped breathing altogether. The situation is gruesome and life-threatening, and you haven’t even Googled it yet.

Third ring: you finally answer the phone and the caregiver tells you your child is inconsolable. She doesn’t have a fever, she just won’t stop crying and is so tired and miserable and can you come get her?

The good thing about incorrectly assuming your child is ER-bound is that hearing “your child is crying and miserable” is fabulous news!

Clearly, your child at this moment has needs only her momma parents can fulfill.

About 30 minutes after the call came, Dave pulls up to the house with my poor, miserable baby. From the two giant pair of crossed eyes I see peeking out from the backseat, I see that he’d enlisted Suzianne’s life-size Cookie Monster for back up. That Dave is always thinking ahead.

As I approach the car, I am wringing my hands and mentally preparing for the worst. Then, I hear it…

Shrieks of joy.

These are accompanied by a look of euphoria on the face of my toddler who just figured out she is home in the middle of the day. With both of her parents. And there’s a swingset out back.

I’m telling you. There was not a dang thing wrong with this child.

Exhibit A upon entering the house:

Exhibit B, five minutes later:

C is for “Can I fake out my parents?”

And finally, this:

She was an unexplained ball of energy until 5:30 p.m., when without warning, she positively lost her mind. This bout of inconsolable crying and flailing about must have been what the daycare experienced. I would have called me, too.

As a last resort, I put her down in her crib. I have no idea how this happened, but that child  slept from 5:45 p.m. until 6 a.m. And instead of taking advantage of this time by going to bed early myself. I stayed up til 11 p.m. asking Facebook what to do about it (FB verdict: don’t wake her for dinner) and plotting out our middle of the night “what if she wakes up” feeding and PJ-changing plan. Bless my heart.

But hey, I’m grateful. At least “the call” turned out to be a teething/sleepy meltdown and not something worse. Sometimes a little jolt is needed to remind us just how good we’ve got it.