Babies!

The babies usually come down the hallway while class is in session. I’ll be here in my corner of the square of hallways that is the English department, reading something aloud to a class full of soon-to-be-graduating seniors, and I’ll hear them squeal and roar out there.

            “RRRRRRRRRRaaaahHHHH,” they say to the construction paper dinosaur on the bulletin board outside my classroom, a “Thesaurus.” Then they’ll do it again. And again.

            At some point I break off what I’m doing to shout “babies!” to celebrate their existence and their presence nearby. Little two- and three-year old tykes who spend days in the very sensibly-arranged on-site daycare used mostly for young teachers’ children, wheeled around on this magnificent red plastic cart with eight or ten seats on it, almost looking like an open egg carton full of chicks.

            It’s true that you miss it when it’s gone: the baby era. My youngest is 13 and all 4 of our kids were so adorable as two- and three-year-olds they should’ve been world famous for being themselves. Probably every two- or three-year-old should be world famous for being themself. The little guys who pause in the hallway outside of my room are all small, enthusiastic miracles, and they never fail to give me a lift spiritually. So let’s hear it for babies! Without ’em, we’d go extinct.