Sunday Mornings.

Every Sunday, when we drop Carter off in the church Nursery, John gets to hear me complain and say "if I was in charge of that place..."  "or if I was working there...."  Nice.  Right?

The ladies are nice enough and Carter is always distracted enough by the amount of toys to ignore their less than ooodling behavior.

Maybe I'm overly protective.  Maybe I'm overly picky.  But here are my two simple requests:

1. Acknowledge us when we arrive.  The top half of the door is open, you can see us standing there.
2. A warm welcome to my child may not be as necessary to him as it is to me.  But I want to see you excited to play with my son!  Come on!  This is my baby!

Okay, those could be rolled into one request.  So not too much to ask, right?

After years of being on the nursery staff myself, working in a Day Care, being a camp counselor, and teaching elementary school, I've learned/been taught/forced:
         You MUST be at their door to give a warm, greeting the children when they walk in the door.  (This isn't just in Texas, but Norway, China and I can assume Canada too.)

And I now see how important that warm greeting is.

A sick confession I have to make is, that I've only been separated from Carter a handful of times and the longest stretch was 10 hours for my class reunion that I was helping throw.  Please don't judge too harshly, I haven't had many opportunities, with lack of family nearby or babysitters whom I know, trust and can communicate with.

So dropping him off every.single.Sunday is a big deal for me.

This rant about our nursery greeting is small.   I promise.  Because I'm quite sure they DO care and are actually volunteering their time.  Maybe they show their love while playing with the kiddies and dealing with parents may not be their favorite part of the job.  This is most likely the truth, and I can handle that!!

It's just that sharing my child with someone else isn't the easiest for me.  I mean, they can't love him like we do.  Right?  What if they don't understand his silly ways?  What if they don't appreciate him for all that we do?  I know these are insecurities that I'll have to give into as it's called "Letting go..."

This week, in church, was different for me.  While I sat there having my same conversation with myself, I found myself thinking of our youngest son.  (It's bound to happen, right?)  He's here, on Earth, being handled by someone other than us.  I don't know what he looks like, but I can imagine that  he doesn't look like a 40 week, perfectly healthy baby.  I worry about him.  What if they make jokes about how he looks?  What if they handle his body like a piece of trash?  I treasure that body.  I just pray, they are being respectful no matter what health conditions he may have had.

I understand that his spirit has moved on but I look forward to receiving his ashes and knowing that he is in loving hands.  Hands that having been wanting to hold him for 5 months.  Hands that understand and appreciate him for all that he is.