April 2026 · Team
Two of our educators found out they were both pregnant around the same time. By the time anyone thought to ask who was organizing the celebration, it was already done.
Someone started a group chat. Someone else said they'd bring food. A third person offered their Instant Pot. There was no committee, no sign-up sheet, no reminder email. A few days later, one of the classrooms had been quietly transformed — sage green and gold balloons arching across the ceiling, an "Oh Baby" backdrop taped to the wall, a table that had somehow filled up with dishes, snacks, drinks, and more gifts than anyone had counted.
Nobody was put in charge. It just happened.
When the two of them walked in, they stopped in the doorway. One of them laughed. The other looked like she might cry. Both stood there with their hands on their bellies, taking it in — the balloons, the people, the table piled high — and for a moment the room just held still.
That's the thing about working somewhere long enough to actually know people. You know when someone deserves to feel seen. And you do something about it.
The table had an Instant Pot on it. Real food — the kind someone made at home that morning and drove in. There were cupcakes and fruit and chips and a 2-liter of 7UP. Pampers boxes stacked on the floor. Gift bags stuffed and arranged. The person who'd pulled most of it together stood behind the table the whole afternoon, just smiling. Not because anyone made a fuss about her role in it. Because she'd wanted to do it.
One of the moms-to-be is having a boy. The blue balloons gave it away before she said a word. The other had the whole room guessing.
These two spend their days reading children. They notice when a toddler is off before anyone else does. They know which two-year-old needs five minutes of quiet and which one needs to run. They are going to know their own babies in a way that takes most people years to figure out.
We really can't wait to meet them.