Playing Dress-Up in Scrubs

So today I officially became a Real Nurse. Capital R, capital N. I put on my scrubs this morning and looked in the mirror and thought: you don’t look like a nurse. You look like a 22-year-old playing dress-up. Which, let’s be honest, is exactly what I am.

Playing Dress-Up in Scrubs

The irony wasn’t lost on me that I was leaving my four-month-old baby to go take care of other people’s babies. I kissed Sophie goodbye (she was more interested in her bottle than my emotional moment) and drove to UNC Rex with my stomach in knots. What if I mess up? What if I don’t know what I’m doing? What if someone figures out I have no idea what I’m doing?

But then a three-year-old with pneumonia threw up on my brand-new scrubs, and I cleaned it up without even thinking about it. I checked his temperature, adjusted his blankets, and made him laugh by doing a terrible Donald Duck impression. His mom looked at me like I was an angel. And I thought: okay. Maybe I actually am a nurse.

Still terrified, but maybe that’s normal. At least the scrubs are cute, right?