We are surfacing now after 20 years, taking deep breaths and looking around. It's only now that we start to come up for air, now that diapers and potty chairs and nap-times and juice cups are years behind us, shoe-laces rarely needing to be tied, even bath-time no longer an evening requisite. Aah, sweet sound of the solitary shower.
How long until we miss it all, until we yearn for sticky hands and crumbs, wish for shoes scattered and outfits flung like deflated scarecrows on bedroom floors? Wish for a faded plastic fire engine in the driveway, a tangle of jump-ropes by the back door?
Someday, then, will we irresponsible tooth fairies regret tossing tiny teeth? Will we impromptu barbers mourn the piles of blond wisps swept into the trash? Will we miss the pair of tiny red Converse we gave to Goodwill, tired of untying knot after knot?
Breathing deeply, we surface.
(For more takes on the prompt "Aging," see this week's Sunday Scribblings.)