My husband and I were in the back seat of an Uber, heading downtown for a concert on a very rare night out for the two of us.

Our three children were left under the watchful eye of our angel of a babysitter. I swear to God she was sent to this Earth solely for me and my wellbeing. She is the one who my husband called during one of my darkest moments, asking if she could come over as my postpartum had taken its toll on me.

She was the one I trusted with my newborn baby, only a few weeks old, while I drove over an hour away for work. When I arrived home later that day, she had my daughter swaddled better than I have ever swaddled a baby….. and I’ve had three kids.

She takes care of my kids when she has availability between her jam packed schedule of nursing school, children’s sports coaching, another job, and I don’t know, probably baptizing babies.

“Damnit!” I said from the backseat of the Uber. “I never leave the babysitter with emergency numbers. What if we were to die in a fiery crash on our night out? What would she do with the kids?! Who would she call if we weren’t to come home?”

I am a mother you guys. This is where our minds go.

Without an ounce of hesitation, my husband replies. “She will  have to raise them. Our kids are going to grow up to be doctors and shit. They will change the world and make a difference.”

“But that is only if the babysitter raises them?” I ask.

“It’s the greatest gift we can give them.” he says.

I nod.