“What if they don’t listen to me?” “How will I know if I’m doing a good job?” These questions race through my head. The knots in my stomach feel like there’s an electric beater mixing everything together, making it hard to breathe. My hands tremble. My mom looks over at me and says, “You’ll do well. You’re great with kids. Think positively.” My ears hear her but the reassuring words aren’t helpful. I’m in the mindset of “I’m fooling myself, aren’t I? The kids won’t like me. What if my co-workers don’t take me seriously?” I can’t look at myself in the visor mirror, too afraid my terror will be visible in the reflection; I don’t look confident or prepared. Before too long, I arrive. I grasp the handles of my bag and open the car door. My entire body shakes. I can’t hold on to my stuff, so everything falls onto the concrete. Hoping nobody is peering out the window, I pick up my belongings with haste. Slowly, my body straightens. I see a small, freckle-filled face staring at me with big brown eyes and an enormous smile. Sun shines through the glass. Toys are dispersed across the room, and kids play happily. I smile back. I turn and wave to my mom with newfound confidence. I walk towards the entrance. My arm pulls back the heavy door and I feel a rush of cool air. I step into the beginning of an unforgettable journey packed with laughter, snot, and endless reminders to flush the toilet.