Cutie Girl: “Mom, can we go over that girls’ house?”
FB Friend: “What girl?”
Cutie Girl: “You know, that girl, my friend with the dog and the cats . . . she said I can come over anytime.”
FB Friend: “Well, I’m sure we’ll have to see if it’s okay with her mom”
– Posted on my Face.book Wall
Two Saturdays ago, we celebrated my niece’s baptism with a party afterwards at my in-laws house. At that party was one of my Hubby’s family friends and her 5 year old daughter. This little girl is so precocious; so bright that you can’t help but be infected by her laughter, enthralled in conversation with her.
This past weekend, her mom posted the above conversation on my Facebook wall. And I can’t tell you how big my heart swelled when I read it. Wow, I thought. I must have made some sort of impression on Cutie Girl. That she would remember such a conversation that even I couldn’t remember. (But then again, when don’t little kids remember more details than adults?)
And as I mentioned in previous posts, I’ve been spending a lot of time with my cousins. First, with my older cousin’s wedding. And more recently, with my youngest cousin’s cotillion. As family usually does when gathering together in such occassions, we began to reminisce on our youth; on growing up in our family. Two of my cousins, sisters about 6 and 8 years younger than I am, brought up how much they used to love staying at our house. They remembered all the times we’d play in our basement; me pulling them down the stairs in sleeping bags and all around the basement while pretending that they were on a roller coaster. They remember how I used to get them to do silly dance routines with me when I was 13 or 14 to great 80’s songs like Wha.m’s “Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)” and Rob Bas.e’s “It Takes Two.” And they remembered how, when I was in high school, I would teach them to sing Depec.he Mo.de songs in perfect harmony. The one comment that stuck with me was when one of them said to me, “You were my favorite cousin when I was a kid. You were always so much fun.”
On the drive home from our trip this past weekend, I couldn’t help but put these two separate events together. And think, once again, how much I love kids … how much I’ve always loved kids. And, while I don’t mean to sound arrogant or proud, how good I am with them. How natural it was for me to be with them.
And at that moment, I also couldn’t help but think … how f*cking ironic that I can’t have any of my own; at least “naturally.”
As I told Hubby these thoughts, I also told him that the pain … it doesn’t hurt as much any more. This feeling of failure; of emptiness. This indescribable sadness. It’s not as deep.
But every once in awhile … at moments like that, I can’t help but spill a bit of tears.