Sometimes I lay away at night and I think about my kiddos, about how small they were when they came to me and how big they are now.
I think about how some of them sobbed every day for weeks when they started preschool last year, and how I would hold them for 20 minutes at a time, rocking them back and forth saying, “I know it is hard to be away from mommy, but it is okay to be sad and you’ll feel better in a little while. Our grown ups always come back.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said, “I know it’s hard when our grown ups leave us, and I know that you feel sad right now, but I’m happy you came to see me today.”
Those same kids, then barely three, now greet me every morning with sweet, ready smiles and so many stories about siblings and socks and things important to four-going-on-five year olds that it boggles the mind. They are excited to come to school and find out our lessons for the day, to play with friends and do their best.
And even though they don’t often need that same kind of comfort they once did, I still spend much of my day with a child in my lap or holding my hand who wants so badly to be read to or hugged or to tell me about what they’ll do that day when they get home.
I think about my kiddos, the ones who I used to call babies, and I sometimes can’t help but cry because I am so thankful. Yes, teaching can be really hard for a lot of reasons, but the child-like love they share with me? I do not deserve any of this. God is so good to me.
Two years I have spent with them, and I feel like they are part of me. Getting hurt and working on recovery (long story) has shifted my perspective about some things, but this? Hasn’t changed. If anything, I’m even more grateful that God let me be part of their lives.
I’m going to lose these babies come May. And I’m so incredibly happy, sad, and proud. ❤