Today was yet another gorgeous day, so between Elaine's naps the three of us went over to a paved path near a marsh to go for a run. As long as Elaine has her iPod, she's game for at least 4 miles. No, obviously, she hangs out in the jogging stroller and seems to enjoy herself quite a bit, though today was unusual in that she kept up a nearly unbroken stream of commentary. Since her commentary consists mostly of "bah bah bah BAAAAH" or "bub bub mm da BUB boooooohhh" she got a few surprised looks from pedestrians we approached from behind.
Anyway, afterward, as always, I was delighted to unbuckle her and pluck her out of the stroller, and while on my hip she looked all around at everything -- the trees, the bushes, the blue sky, me. I was flooded with this familiar feeling, and I was instantly filled with exasperation. One of the things that annoys me about myself is this ridiculous neurosis that goes on in my head when I'm vacation: I tend to become inwardly hysterical about how quickly the time is passing almost as soon as I arrive. I have done this at least since I was 12 -- I distinctly remember it from the sailing trip my family took in the Virgin Islands. My brain goes "oh wow, this is such a lovely view, I'm so thrilled to be standing here soaking up this sunshine and gazing at that lovely ocean and OH GOD WE ONLY HAVE FOUR AND A HALF DAYS LEFT UNTIL THIS ALL BECOMES A DISTANT MEMORY." It is beyond annoying. I don't sleep well because I feel like I'm sleeping away precious minutes that I could be spending enjoying my vacation. I even do this thing where I'll picture myself back in my "real life," and imagine how it will feel to be zoning out in front of my computer at work and imagining my vacation. So while I'm on vacation, I torment myself by imagining what it will feel like to imagine where I am. What kind of weirdo does that?
Turns out I'm in a bit of a pattern of doing the exact same thing with Elaine. I remember the very first time I did it: it was in the summer, and Brandon and I had walked up to the 4th Street Farmers' Market on a Thursday night. I had Elaine in the Bjorn. On the way back, we walked past a baseball diamond where tons of high school kids and their parents were milling around, apparently just after a game. And I looked at all those eyeliner-wearing teenage girls in teeny tiny shorts, and their often strained-looking parents nearby, and I thought, wow. Someday that will be me, remembering these easy days when my little girl just snoozed while strapped to my chest -- and it made me well up even to think of it. Instead of just being content that I had a beautiful baby girl strapped to my chest right at that moment.
I would like to not do this. Though I'm glad not to be taking these fleeting months of babyhood for granted, I think I'd be better off just happily anticipating all the changes and new experiences I'm headed for with Elaine, because the time is going to pass whether I like it or not. I remember my mom saying -- maybe 3,000 times a day -- that she wanted me always to be her little girl. She would tease me and say she wanted me to stop growing up. I'm sure I rolled my eyes and resumed wondering whether I had any hopes of ever being cool (I didn't). But now I understand. I so, so understand.
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