It's really hard for me not to delete the entry below this one. First of all, I feel like I'm whining in it (I hate it when I whine). Second of all, I'm terrified of what I put out there. But then again, terror isn't necessarily a BAD thing, right? Terror is good; it's usually a solid indication you're stretching way beyond your comfort zone. Which is soul growth, I think. It's probably good to terrify yourself at least once per year, preferably more. Unless, I suppose, you put yourself into a situation where you're being chased down by a bunch of Walking Dead zombies or blood thirsty vampires. That terror may be the kind to avoid. Also: running with bulls in Madrid or swimming in bloody waters with a bunch of frenzied sharks. Be smart in your self terror endeavors. Is my motto.
You know who else is terrified right now? My sweet little Miss Melissa. I was getting dressed this morning and heard her sobbing in the living room. So I went in, and saw her lying face down, prone, on the floor, absolutely inconsolable.
"What's wrong??" I asked.
"I want to be her again!" she wailed, pointing at last year's school picture of herself.
"Because I'm growing up too, too fast! I don't want to grow up. I want to be little and be your little girl forever."
That is one bad case of the Peter Pans, I'd say.
So we talked it out, and I assured her that even when she's 80-something and I'm 100-whatever, she'll still be my little girl. And we made a good, long list of all the things she couldn't do last year that she can do this year, and another sizeable list of the things she can't do this year that she'll be able to do next year. Did I mention she's already losing her first tooth?
Just between you and me, this growing up roller coaster does need to slow down. I didn't tell her, but I don't want her to grow up either, and sometimes I watch her sleep at night and all I can see is me standing in her bedroom with her tiny little sleeping body in my arms when she was 3 or so weeks old. And my favorite year was when she was 2. Two was such an incredible, chockablock-full-of-stinking-cute year, and I miss it a lot.
I'm trying to figure out a way to get to the Red Clay Writer's Conference in Savannah, GA this October. I have a good writerly friend who may be able to go, which makes it less intimidating. And Savannah has some lovely places to rent that aren't that expensive--old houses filled with memories (and ghosts) (no, seriously! ghosts are real...I've talked to one. Or, rather, one talked at me. Long story. And true! Don't look at me like that...it happened). Savannah, Georgia is probably one of my most favorite American cities of all time. If you haven't been, I insist that you go there as soon as possible. The people are quirky, ghosts are everywhere, and the Spanish moss alone will make you feel just like you stepped right into midnight in the garden of good and evil.
Basically, what I'm saying is I'm feeling a need to stretch and grow, just like my kid. And there's a big part of me that just wants to sob, lying prone on the floor next to her, and absolutely resist this. But I'm ready to expand, I think.
This evening, I tweeted one of my favorite actors. I'm so ridiculous--it's just the frickin' INTERNET, Amy. And I consulted a bunch of friends before I replied to his tweet--should I do it? what if he doesn't respond? (he won't respond.) i'm so intimidated! what do i do?? He probably won't see it or if he does, I shall be one of many. But it was huge and scary for me to hit "tweet." He's one of my heroes. (Remember? I'm so worried I'm bugging them or I'll look weird.)
But I'm expanding and doing things that are scary, so I sent it. And asked him to get Dobby some socks--I don't know why? (I don't read/watch Harry Potter movies; that was on behalf of a friend who, apparently, thinks Dobby needs socks? The actor is Jason Isaacs, who plays Lucius Malfoy in Harry Potter, and I heart him because he's a consummate storyteller. You are a-okay in my book if you worry a lot about telling really good stories.) At any rate, i took a HUGE, deep breath and clicked tweet. And then I threw up. (Ha! No, I'm just kidding. I actually went and painted Melissa's toe nails--she's been on my back about it all day.) I let her know little babies can't get their nails painted, so it's good she's growing up...willfully choosing not to remember the 6? 9? month old baby I saw one day with painted fingernails. (Honestly, people. Why not just put wigs and stuff on them? Oh, right. Sigh.)
Edit/Update: Oh hahaha! I had no idea why in the world I was asked to ask Jason Isaacs/Lucius Malfoy to give Dobby the house elf socks. So I googled it. Well. I suppose there are worse ways to lose a house elf? Maybe? (sigh) Frickin' Harry Potter fans. Seriously.