Nursery

A year and a half ago, I was called to the nursery. When they asked me to do it, I laughed. Then told them I'm awful with kids. Up to that point, the last time I'd babysat, the kid had tried to choke me. There was no way I would be able to work with a bunch of small children. I didn't know anything about them! 

Turns out, I love working in the nursery. I absolutely love the kids, and have learned to play with them. I've learned to let myself go and be silly. I've learned to say no to more marshmallows, and try to help them go potty for the fourteenth time. 

I've learned to let it go when they smash my towers and that I'll never finish one. I've also learned how to let them help me build a tower. I have sore arms every Monday from holding someone in my arms, whether that be to get the higher up bubbles, or to comfort them. 

There have been kids that I thought I'd never be able to love. And I've learned to love them. I've learned from the women around me who work so hard to love them, and who taught me to look past that nickname of 'the hitter.' Because they can be better than that. 

I'm still learning to be comfortable crawling up to them and sniffing their butts to see who's stinky, and to tell a dirty diaper from farts. The one week that I wanted to leave crying and pull my hair out, and swore that I'd never have kids, the ladies comforted me, and told me that I'll (hopefully) never have seven children the same age at once. 

I love the nursery. I love my Heavenly Father who knows me so much better than I know myself, and knows what I'm capable of and helping me grow. 

And I fully know that everyone is going to cry a lot this week because I'm being so sappy.