“That will either really whet your appetite for kids, or—more likely—be really effective birth control,” he said wisely.

For those of you who aren’t LDS, allow me to explain. At our church, each member is given a “calling” to serve in a specific capacity. So you might be asked to play music on Sunday, or you might be asked to teach a gospel related class, or you might be asked to be bishop of the ward, or you might be asked to serve in the nursery.

Jeremy and I have taught Gospel Doctrine to people 30-40-50 years our senior before. We were confident. But going into the nursery today among the 1-2 year olds barely learning to toddle, I whispered to Jeremy, “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Me too.”

I actually really like kids, but when they are not related to me, sometimes I need to look through the germ layer to find the kids underneath. Fortunately these kiddos were very clean; I am convinced that Chicagoans are a super breed of human who where perfect clothes, have perfect teeth, have perfect lives, and who somehow don’t annoy me with their perfection. Especially when their perfect spawn is bacteria-free.

I found that the kids made bonds with their nursery worker of choice with varying degrees of covalence. Though Brendan* (Name changed for the parents’ privacy, and also because I don’t remember) upon his mother’s departure threatened to break glass with his screaming, Jeremy skillfully distracted him by scooting a toy car over his toes. Brendan stopped crying for the rest of the two hours—unless Jeremy shifted in his chair, or stood up too quickly, or betrayed any indication of leaving Brandon. Kid had attachment issues. Of course, in my “Sierra Assessing my Spouse’s Ability to Work With Kids” mode, I was beaming.

I was paired with Myra,* a beautiful 1-year-old. It was her first day in nursery and she seemed to be processing things very cerebrally. She spoke never, but let me hold her the whole two hours. She just looked around with intensity, glared occasionally, and gently abstained from any sort of participation by pulling her arm protectively across her chest whenever I offered a toy, cracker, book, play-doh, etc. However, Myra did find one thing that she really liked, and as if scared I would take it from her, she secretly slipped it into her mouth.

Eager to prove that I was a good nursery leader, I wanted to return the students clean and happy. Myra had other ideas. Two minutes before parent retrieval, after successfully keeping Myra clean for two hours, she slipped her secret orange fruit snack from her mouth and kneaded it between her fingers, strung it in her hair, and smeared it across her face. We didn’t even have fruit snacks at snack time. 

So today I have learned the age-old parenting technique—If your kid is being quiet, she is hiding something. In her mouth.

Also: Kids are Sticky. Even Chicago kids.