Time is a funny thing.
It seems like just yesterday I was at my parent’s home with my new husband, visiting family for Thanksgiving and holding my cousin’s new baby for the first time. I remember that she had dark hair that all stood completely on end, as if she had stuck her tiny finger in a light socket. My cousin and I grew up next door to each other (across the field, really) on our family’s farm. She was a month older than me, and we had spent much of our childhood running all over the farm together, playing kickball and basketball, “camping,” (and I use that term loosely, as we ran electrical cords from my house across the gravel driveway to our tent so we could have TV and a fan) in the yard and eating together with her two brothers at the kid’s table at Thanksgiving. It was a unique experience to watch this person I had known from my earliest memories become a parent. Little did I know that that December I would find out that I would be following in her footsteps nine months later.
And over the last 18 years, that little baby with the electrifying hair grew up to be a beautiful young lady (and thankfully, her hair lays down on its own now.) 😉 And she is the spitting image of her pretty mama, too. And her grandma. Kind of a combination of the two. Those eighteen years have flown by, my friends. Flown. Next fall she will begin college and plans to study criminal justice and become a police officer. And mom and dad and grandparents are very proud, as they should be.
Of course, we’ll also all be a nervous wreck about it. But you know, that’s what family does.