Thoughts at turning 60…
Oh, how I wish I could magically crawl back into the brain of that little girl me turning 1, 59 years ago today…
I know I’m at my Nana’s house in Boston… standing on her dining room table. I know this because my uncle still owns that big, old family homestead with the same big, old windows and swinging pantry-to-dining-room door.
The old black-and-white photo gives no clue to the color of my little diaper-exposing dress (Mom?!), but I’ll bet it’s a sparkly shade of pink. My Mom still loves pink. Poofy sleeves, ruffles and sparkle scream GIRL… as does my one top-of-head-curl. My Mom has told me that my hair didn’t come in ’til I was approaching one, so poof, ribbons, petticoats and sparkle had to suffice to state my gender.
My little scuffed white bootie-shoes look like I’ve been on-the-go.
There’s the ONE candle rising from the cake or cupcake to forever lock in that moment of 1 year old (precariously close to my shoe, by the way, Mom! Geesch!).
But there I am, bow-legged and poofed, standing on top of my Nana’s dining room table, staring at the rest of my birthdays to come.
What was I thinking?
This is what I was thinking. I’m sure of it. EVERY, EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY, EVERY DAY TO COME… standing on tables in diapers or not…