As I was thinking about this girl and what her experiences must be like and how my own was not that far removed from her (just a few years ago I was the single gal helping out in the Sunday School room with my womb aching as the little ones broke my heart each day) I started thinking about how maybe I am confused about my role. By that I mean this thought kept pounding in my head one day while I was praying: she is not yours Court, she is mine. As I started to mull this around in the old noggin' I realized that my daughter is essentially on loan to me. I am the child-care worker, not the parent. She will be with me for such a brief time in comparison. All I really have to do is keep her alive and try keep her happy. Huh.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
We are but babysitters.
I was thinking the other day when one of the child-care workers at church was telling me something funny Kaiya had done. While the story was cute and I was touched how much she clearly cared for my daughter there was this sense of sadness in her voice. This sense of ownership of all the children in her care, for the brief bit that they were, but then this sad sense of release. Perhaps I was just reading into it but I get the sense from her that she longs to be a parent herself and has this bitter-sweet feeling when it is time for her role to be done. For as much as the children love her and enjoy their time playing with her the squeals of sheer delight they reserve for their mommies and daddies.