Here's the story.
Emma always did well when she was in the nursery. I remember dropping her off at four months and wanting her to cry for me. Yet, every time we picked her up, she was happy and we always got a good report.
Fast forward a few months. When Emma turned one, she moved into the toddler room. The first time we dropped her off, she gripped on to me and kicked and screamed, "Mommy, vente," as I walked away with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. We, of course, attributed it to a new room, new children, new teachers. The lead teacher encouraged us and asked us to continue to bring her to class. We did, but Emma never adjusted.
Fast forward a few more months. A month before Emma turned two, David went to check on her and the teacher was walking with her through the hallway trying to calm her down. Emma's eyes were swollen. At that point, we decided not to take her to the toddler room. Her once enthusiastic teacher, agreed with us.
Lately, my heart's be aching and longing for community. Not just community for David and me, but for Emma.
Sunday, we listened to our hearts and went to church. I prayed for Emma on our drive and as I walked her to the 2-year old room. She cried, so I decided to walk her in and stay for a few minutes. She yelled for her daddy and she tried to walk out of the room several times. Then, a woman who knew Spanish told Emma, "Vente. Yo te cuido." Emma went to her and stayed. I expected to be called out during the sermon to go pick her up, but it didn't happen. After the service, we picked her up and her teachers filled my heart with positive comments.
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