Monday, July 19, 2010

Trading Up

Today I stumbled upon a perfectly encapsulated summary of my life. That it was so metaphorical would have been enough. That it was entirely lovely was a gift. That I noticed? A miracle.

I was never a little girl who dreamed of being a princess, but I was a little girl who dreamed big. And often. I think all little girls do it. (I sure hope so.) And although I bypassed the ballerina phase, I whiled away a few fistfuls of hours imagining the endless possibilities of my future.

Never once did I fancy myself the mama of a brown-skinned baby with hair that tangles at the mention of a comb. Never did I close my eyes and imagine the weight of a little gymnast body in my arms, with delts that could make big boys cry. I never knew there was a specific, blissful heart-ache reserved just for the sound of a little girl lithp.

I step in from the heat that renders my lungs swamp-land, from the humidity that waves my hair. I breathe solace in my mudroom. Never could I have imagined the possible magic of a mudroom.

My eye is drawn to my unsexy, on-sale dryer upon which the image of my whole life rests. I was once that little girl playing dress-up. And my big plan? Well, I got it all wrong.

But the getting it wrong was the very best part.

The getting it wrong was only the beginning.

The getting it wrong meant I traded in a lab coat for a tiny, purple tutu.