Kelsey Baker, Military and Defense Reporting Fellow

Thousands of military families are stuck on childcare waitlists. More spots may not be enough to fix the deeper problems.

There are an estimated 7,800 children on US military childcare waitlists. Military families and advocates say the number masks deeper shortfalls that continue to sideline working spouses and strain service members.

Lawmakers raised the issue during a recent congressional hearing, calling the persistent backlog a quality-of-life problem, even as the waitlist has notably dropped from 12,000 children in 2024.

Advocates told Business Insider that the number isn’t the whole picture and excludes families who’ve given up out of frustration or can’t use base centers that lack evening, weekend, or specialized care.

“We can’t say that we are a military that cares about our families if we pretend to provide childcare and then we’ve got a waitlist that’s got 7,800 babies waiting on it,” Massachusetts Democratic Sen. Elizabeth Warren said to service senior enlisted leaders during last week’s hearing.

None of the service leaders present disputed that figure.

Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy John Perryman acknowledged that the Navy still has roughly 1,400 children in unmet need status, while Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force David Wolfe said his service’s waitlist stands at around 2,700, though there are efforts underway to open new spots.

It is not clear how the remaining waitlisted children are divided between other services.

In 2022, the Air Force had 95,000 children under 5 but space for only about 23,000 in its child development centers, a 2023 service report on childcare found.

An Air Force spokesperson attributed that disparity to the number of children entering and leaving care throughout the year. “The annual number served will not correlate with daily capacity and can be significantly higher,” they said.

Not all families require on-base care. But the report added that more facility construction alone would not be a “viable solution to meet all potential demand.”

Kayla Corbitt, a military spouse and the founder of a nonprofit dedicated to helping military families find reliable childcare, told Business Insider that many families lose hope amid long waits. Staying on the waitlist, she said, requires logging on every couple of months to reconfirm before families are automatically disenrolled.

And for some families, the barriers extend beyond backlogs.


A room at the CDC at Ramstein Air Base, Germany, Jan. 14, 2026.

A room at the CDC at Ramstein Air Base, Germany.



Airman Paden Henry/US Air Force



“Anyone needing evening care, weekend care, shift work care, which is a lot of the military, they aren’t going to try to get on that waitlist,” Corbitt said, explaining that most child development centers, or CDCs, on bases don’t offer late evening or very early morning care needed for troops on 24-hour duty or for deployed service members with spouses who work unusual hours.

Additionally, children with special needs face significant obstacles in finding care, Corbitt said, as many CDCs are not equipped to provide care, and the policies sometimes vary from facility to facility, making it hard for families to know what to expect when they move.

Brigit Schneider, an Air Force spouse and mother of three children, wants to return to work as a financial planner to better support her family, but because her local childcare center won’t accept children with feeding tubes, one of her young children is shut out.

“From a special needs mom perspective, it’s an extra layer of challenge,” she told Business Insider.

Schneider pays nearly $1,000 a month for one child to receive on-base childcare, another child is receiving private care due to the severity of their disability, and a third is at home. Schneider says the third should be able to receive base care.

“A G-tube really is not a hard medical device to learn how to use,” she said.

Generally, though, military CDCs won’t accept children with gastrostomy tubes. Facilities are often unable, or unwilling, to provide higher levels of care, Corbitt said.

Air Force childcare programs are “supported by a multidisciplinary team of experts who provide consultation and support to ensure the highest quality of inclusive care,” an Air Force spokesperson told Business Insider following a query regarding the service’s childcare.

The service “offers a network of on- and off-installation care options and works closely with families to identify the appropriate setting for their child,” said the spokesperson, adding that waitlist data helps inform future allocation requirements.

Staffing shortages are another obstacle to reliable access for military personnel. Military childcare workers face unusually high attrition rates, around 50%, Warren said at last week’s congressional hearing, driven largely by meager pay.

Compounding the issue is the lack of a clear pathway that would allow qualified providers to move easily between states.

Nearly 40% of childcare workers are military spouses, said the Marine Corps’ top enlisted leader, Sergeant Major Carlos Ruiz, during the hearing. “If we can just be a little bit more smart about transferring folks and directly hiring from one CDC to another, we can reduce the attrition,” he said.

Government watchdogs have repeatedly flagged childcare accessibility as a point of concern for the US military. A 2024 Government Accountability Office report found that while the services focus heavily on recruiting new childcare workers, they do not consistently measure whether employee retention efforts are effective.

The military’s childcare shortages aren’t unique to the armed forces. Many Americans in the civilian world struggle to find reliable, reasonably priced childcare.

Often, a year of childcare amounts to an entire average salary, costing tens of thousands of dollars. The cost of childcare in the US has increased by over 150% over the last quarter-century and continues to climb, often outpacing inflation. In some areas, childcare costs can exceed rent or mortgage payments.




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We-didnt-need-childcare-but-we-still-paid-7500-to.jpeg

We didn’t need childcare, but we still paid $7,500 to send our toddler to a program for 4 hours a week. It helped her build independence.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I frankly didn’t put much thought into long-term childcare plans. Living in New York City, my husband and I knew we wouldn’t have the traditional village available to us — my parents, while local and thrilled to get a first grandchild, are older and weren’t particularly eager to volunteer for solo babysitting, while his parents live thousands of miles away.

But we were in a uniquely lucky situation: We both happened to have flexible, largely remote jobs.

For the first few months of my surprisingly generous parental leave, my husband and I, cocooned in newborn bliss (and perhaps slightly delirious from sleep deprivation), didn’t stress about what would happen when I went back to work. I figured we could make it work through a combination of creative time management and strategically scheduled naps — at least until our daughter was eligible for 3-K, free schooling available in New York City for kids the year they turn 3.

My husband became the primary parent

Surprisingly, this plan ended up working, for the most part, and for just shy of a year, we managed a fairly even 50-50 split in parenting duties. As time went on and my own work ramped up and the baby potato turned into a sprinting toddler, it became clear that my husband would need to become the primary parent.

It wasn’t something either of us had considered before having a child, but it made the most sense: He found far greater fulfillment in being a father than he’d ever found in his career, whereas I had always defined myself by my work as a writer and editor. He kept his job but scaled back, working largely in the evenings and weekends so he could be free during the day for stay-at-home parenting.

As our daughter became a toddler, she blossomed under my husband’s full-time care, with constant adventuring and frequent playdates keeping her days busy. We didn’t need outside childcare — but as it turned out, she did.

I’d considered traditional childcare, but couldn’t stomach the cost

New York City has notoriously high childcare costs.


Child playing with bubbles

The author says traditional childcare was too expensive in New York City.

Courtesy of Michael Matassa



In the interim between our delicate balancing act and deciding my husband would drastically scale down his work, I considered a number of different options, from traditional daycares (upward of $2,500 a month in my neighborhood for full-time programs) to nanny-share arrangements with other local families (maybe slightly cheaper, but a pain to coordinate).

We were lucky in that we were able to avoid childcare costs, which would have effectively canceled out one of our salaries, though I still toyed with the idea of enrolling her somewhere part time to get her used to the idea in case our situation changed.

Enter Barnard College’s Center for Toddler Development.

I first heard about the program in a local moms’ book club I’d joined. One of our first reads was “How Toddlers Thrive” by Tovah P. Klein, a prominent child psychologist — and incidentally the then-director of the Toddler Center. Another mom in the book club with a daughter two years older than mine mentioned she was now applying.

I was frankly flabbergasted when she explained the details. It’s part research program, where the toddlers are minded by teachers and selected students from the college’s graduate program and observed for published research purposes from behind a one-way mirror, and part “school,” albeit an extremely part-time one, with each “class” of toddlers meeting only twice a week for two hours each day for the duration of the school year.

I was intrigued by the program’s unique “gentle separation period” and its said mission to help toddlers have a positive first school experience while supporting healthy social and emotional development through hands-on, child-guided play.

At that point, my daughter was only 18 months old (the halfway point to our 3-K end goal), but I’d already started to suspect that separation might be an eventual issue. With two working-from-home parents, she was used to having us around constantly — and had never had a babysitter.

The few times we’d tried to step out to grab a coffee and handed her to a grandparent, she would shriek like she was being abandoned. Over the next several months, she also grew more shy, coinciding with her stranger danger peaking.

We paid $7,500 for our 2-year-old

Convinced our future would be filled with school refusals and drop-off meltdowns, I hardcore pitched the Toddler Center to my husband for the coming school year. We didn’t need it for childcare, but I became convinced we did need it to help give our daughter the gentlest, most gradual introduction to being away from us. He was less convinced, sure she would grow out of it and be OK with separating by 3-K, but agreed in the end.

If the program details were mind-boggling, the price point was eye-watering. Though there isn’t a set, publicly announced tuition rate, the Toddler Center offers sliding-scale tuition and payment plans to make the program accessible to a broader range of the population. According to its website, a third of Toddler Center families pay tuition on a sliding scale (I assume the higher-profile alum parents like Amy Schumer, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Robert De Niro paid full sticker price for their kids to attend).

After submitting a sliding-scale tuition application, which required forking over the previous year’s tax returns to prove we were indeed not flush with cash, we landed on $7,500 as the final figure for our almost 2-year-old to take her first baby steps toward school.

At first, it was torturous

It did not go well.


Toddler sitting on bench

The author says at first, her daughter wasn’t comfortable with either of her parents leaving.

Courtesy of Michael Matassa



The first few weeks of the program allowed the parents in the classroom, gradually moving us farther from it (a separate, no-toys-allowed room in the back, meant to be unappealing to the kids) to encourage the toddlers to ignore them and play in the main classroom area. That trick didn’t work on our daughter, who simply sat next to the chair of whichever of us had taken her in that day, chattering happily as we tried to gently encourage her to go away.

As I’d dreaded, the initial actual separation — when parents would bring their kids into the classroom and tell them they were leaving — was horrendous. The Toddler Center mandated that only one parent or caregiver drop off their child each morning.

For the first few weeks after separation, we could both sit in the observation room, where we were treated to a front-row show of our daughter sobbing hysterically and trying to reason with the grad students to open the door she was convinced we were right behind. It was excruciating, and plenty of tears were shed on our end as well.

There was virtually no improvement for months, which was far longer than I expected. And I felt an immense amount of guilt for having come up with this idea in the first place: Were we actually traumatizing her instead of helping her? Had I epically miscalculated this? Did I pay $7,500 to torture my toddler and myself?

I was wracked with doubt, and we debated withdrawing her from the program before the first semester had even finished. It was particularly hard on my husband, who, as the primary parent, was typically the one dropping her off and dealing with the meltdowns — and who also really missed her on school days.

Suddenly, though, and for no particular reason at all, it got better. A lot better.

Instead of sobbing by the door for a full hour and a half, she started interacting with the other kids. She found a favorite grad student she’d attach herself to. She played happily on the classroom slide. And eventually, she comforted the other toddlers during their hard separation days, assuring them their mommies or daddies would be back.

The Toddler Center was expensive, but extremely worth it for us

While it was difficult for my husband to be apart from his little buddy for the few hours a week she was at the program, they turned it into an opportunity for new adventures. In the spring semester, he began biking with her to school, stopping to pick up flowers on the way there and back. Another tradition became that he would bring her a blueberry muffin from a local café every day at pickup. These small rituals helped them bond even more.


Child jumping on sand

The author says the $7,500 she spent was worth it.

Courtesy of Michael Matassa



I don’t pretend to have a handle on the intricacies of toddler psychology, and I can’t tell you what the flipped-switch moment was where it finally clicked for my kid that being left at school with her teachers didn’t mean we were gone forever. And yes, for the record, she still cried during drop-off the first few weeks of 3-K.

But I am convinced that completing the Toddler Center program drastically reduced her adjustment period for “real school.” Tossing her into the deep end for six hours a day, five days a week, was simply not the right option for our family.

In the end, I’m glad I listened to my gut, dug into our pockets, and toughed out the tears — and I’d like to think my daughter, somewhere deep down in her toddler brain, is too.




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