October 14, 2008
I remember being a kid and sitting on the counter in my kitchen. For whatever reason it was always the best place to hang out and have a snack. Or to have phone conversations, because of course back then the telephone was attached to the wall by a long curly cord that I would wrap around my finger over and over again.
Now my daughter has discovered sitting on the counter. She climbs up there to talk to me while I am cooking. She tells me stories about princesses in her animated way. And tells me about all the shoes she wants to buy. She is my daughter.
She asks me questions about when I was a little girl. And I see the same look on her face that I used to have when my mother would talk about her childhood. It seemed so long ago. The photos were all so old looking pasted with black corners onto yellowing scrapbook pages. Friends that she had, that she no longer talked to. “But where are all those people now?” I wanted to know.
I see on my daughter’s face the same sort of disbelief that I could have ever been anything other than a grown-up. Anything other than what I am at this exact moment. A disbelief that the world itself could have existed without her in it.
A disbelief I share most days.