Huntman

Our shadows hold hands as we walk down the street, hand around fingers. The outline of his baggy overalls hangs loose; the frizz on my curls bounces high. Tears sneak into my eyes, catch in my lashes, drip onto my glasses--this is my last day as Hunter's nanny.

Eight months ago, I drove to the front of the neighborhood to meet with the couple who had responded to my nanny ad in the Spring Valley newsletter. I was greeted by the smiling faces of Aimee and Rodney, and I held Hunter for the first time: a little baby in blue footie pajamas.

One month after that, I started watching Hunter two days a week. And I fell in love with him. As I have watched him grow from that cooing infant to a walking, garbling toddler, my love for him has also grown. His smiles make my heart dance; I love the way he reaches his chubby arms for me, follows me around, cries when I walk out of the room.

Now I'm going much farther than just around the corner. This morning I have held him close, kissed him long, dreading saying goodbye. Of course, it is not goodbye forever. But I know that when I come home, he won't know me as he knows me now. I pray that he won't forget me, but he's just a baby...they're not like elephants; they don't remember long.

So as he sleeps now, I stare at his curling hair, his button nose, his chubby cheeks. I will not forget.