I spent a good four hours last night taking care of a friend's grandkids while she was at work. Kayla is three, and Jamie is eleven months old. They're both so sweet.
I have to admit that I was pretty nervous. I went over the day before to meet the kids, so I knew that Kayla and I would have fun and that Jamie wouldn't be much work at all, but part of me was terrified. What if I break Ester's grandkids? What if something happens to the baby that I can't fix? And worst of all: What if today is the day I find out I'd make a terrible mother?
See, I didn't babysit when I was younger. I'm always afraid of dropping babies, so I've avoided holding them for the most part. And while I'm used to being around kids, those kids are almost always my cousins. So theoretically, I could have been terrible with kids and never known it.
But Kayla and I got along great. We watched Dora, studied our alphabet, colored... And although Jamie refused to be anywhere but in my arms, the only work I really had to do with her was change her and give her her first bottle. It all felt so natural. Jamie fit perfectly on my hip and in my arms, and half-way through Dora, Kayla told me she loved me. I felt like I was meant to be a mom, which is one of the coolest feelings ever.
I've recently come to the realization that I want kids, and Phil wants them as well. But until now, I was scared I was going to be no good at it.
It feels good to have those fears melt away.
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