My friend Aly wrote about her parents yesterday and I had the strangest reaction to her post.
I had the strangest urge to transport myself back in time, drive down south, break into her home and take her home with me.
I wouldn't make her eat cole slaw, actually , I wouldn't make her eat anything. She would just be a baby in my house, cuddled and coddled and loved. I'd make her homemade pizzas and star shaped cucumbers.
We'd share bowls of ice cream in the gameroom and watch PBS specials about hidden caves in Thailand.
We'd read The Phantom Tollbooth and A Wrinkle in Time together and I'd never let her stay up late. She'd be in bed by 9 every night and I'd wake her up every morning with a 'Good Morning Sunshine.'.
We'd fight cause I won't let her wear makeup. We'd fight cause I think her best friend is a bad influence. I wouldn't treat her like a friend or an enemy though. She'd just be my baby.
Forever and ever.
Then it dawned on me that I have enough freaking kids. There's no way I can afford the nervous breakdown another child would surely cost, let alone the time and energy I'd have to come up with to go back in time and kidnap some random brat.
Good thing Aly turned out just fine without me.