Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to be so completely devoted to these little ones that it becomes unhealthy. Frequently, my shrink has joked that I’ll never find a nanny like myself when I have my own kids. Honestly? I don’t want one. If the parents knew how much I love their children, I don’t know if they’d want me around anymore. I think every parent wants their nanny to like and possibly even love their charges but me? I absolutely, completely, unequivocally adore them. I would take and keep any one of them if asked. I can’t imagine my life without them. In fact, I joke that I go through “baby withdrawals” if I ever get more than two days off. But it’s not really a joke. Everytime I get a new kid or new family, I think that I’ll never be able to like them or care about them as much as I do my others. And everytime I prove myself wrong. I’d easily give my life for any of them. Every. Single. One. Their pain is my pain. Their joy, my joy. Their sadness, my sadness. We’re connected in a way that is indescribable and the more we spend time together, the more I need them. Need them to laugh, to cry, to feel. Without them, I’m empty. Without Purpose. And it scares me. Scares me that our relationship has become so utterly symbiotic.

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