You know that crazy realization that you’ve, holy crap, become an adult?
Well, I’ve got another one to add to my list of “Obvious Realizations.”
Over Spring Break, we spent some time at my parents’ house . . . and let me tell you, that’s starting to get a bit surreal. You see, I don’t remember being a wiggly, squishy little baby . . . but I do remember some of being a toddler, and it’s beginning to get weird watching Charlie hang out at my parents’ place. This weekend was the kicker.
My obvious realization is this: I used to be a little kid.
Duh, right? I know. Sometimes, though, you get caught up in adulthood, and it’s hard to wrap your mind around the fact that you used to be the height of your parents’ knees.
When I was little, we’d go trek over to our neighbors’ house and play with their baby chicks. This year, we took Charlie. When we pulled into the driveway, I was fairly blown away by how the same everything was. The clothes line is still there, laden with T-shirts and other laundry, and the old doors of their tornado cellar are still sticking up out of the ground behind their home.
Life is just . . . crazy, isn’t it? The little chicken coop with the circular pen for the chicks is still there, and I can just close my eyes and see my little sister, Alli, holding a fuzzy little yellow chick up to her cheek.
I tried to find some pictures of us back in the day, but it looks like all my parents took was video. That’s okay, because as much as things stay the same, we all know that change keeps rolling out. Change, in this case, takes the form of a sweet little toddler (bulldozer) named Charlie.
(Speaking of my parents . . . if I’m feeling weird about this, can you imagine what they were feeling?)
From what I remember, Alli and I would usually show a quiet, almost reverent awe of the little chicks. We’d put them up against our cheeks and give them tiny kisses, careful not to squeeze them too hard.
Charlie, on the other hand, jumped in that little pen just as quickly as he could, and chased those poor little chicks in fluffy, terrified circles.
It was great. Well, not the chicks’ fear, but Charlie’s delight and fascination with them was enough to make anyone’s day. He could pluck up one of those fluffballs mid-run, and did a fairly good job of holding them.
He only almost squeezed the guts out of one of them. He wasn’t successful, though, so the chick (as far as we know) cheeps on. As you can see here, he was awfully sad when we had to leave them.
What do you do with these feelings? I know there’s nothing, really, you can do . . . other than cherish the awesome cycle. I used to be a little kid. I have memories of being small . . . and now I’m the mother of a little kid . . . who is very busy right now, creating hismemories of being small.
And so on, and so forth, right? Time marches on, whether I can believe it or not . . . and I’m so excited to watch Charlie make all his memories.