The first time I was asked to work in the church nursery, I was 38 weeks pregnant with a spirited one-year-old in tow. After I realized that she was not kidding, I mentioned that I should probably wait until after the baby was born. I figured that was a legit answer since no one wants to hand their baby off to someone who might have to run to the labor and delivery room during service. While I sure seemed to feel gigantic, apparently my watermelon-sized belly didn’t seem to be do the trick. She replied,
“Well, any way you can help before then would be great too.”
Are you kidding me? Between Braxton Hicks contractions, sleepless nights, a high-energy toddler, and the risk of my water breaking beneath my feet at that very moment, helping out in the nursery was the last thing on my mind. It was a near miracle that I could barely make it to church that morning. As a mom of young children, getting to church at all felt like one of the biggest accomplishments of the entire week. Even if I was five minutes late.