Why I'm Such a Baby

I'm the third of three children. I'm the extreme third. That's not like three cubed, but the inverse, squared. Got it ?

My sister is ten years older than I am. My brother is seven years my senior. So I am, what was and is, frequently referred to as, the baby. (With emphasis)

As such, I've always been close to my parents. I remember having a mostly happy childhood, with very big people around. My older sister and brother, I found out recently (last night), would try to push me along in my development as a baby, hold me up to help me walk early, to beat the other impending-toddler that lived down the street. I remember my brother holding me up on the bike, telling me I didn't really need training wheels.. I could do it!

But, eventually, they got older, and went off to college. I was still at home for a longgggg time after that, putting me squarely in middle and high school as a practically only child.

I didn't have to share a bathroom with any other kid, in those formative years (a fact that haunts my husband, as I kick him out of the bathroom at night). It was nobody else but me on the upstairs floor of our house. I had no other kids to contend with, for my adoring parents' attention. Truly the baby.

When I left to study abroad in London the summer of '96, my parents sat with me at the bagel shop in the airport, shared a bagel, and listened to my concerns about the flight. The curriculum. My plan to stay there and find a job, a flat. I was scared, and they could tell. When they hugged me goodbye, I sobbed, and I didn't think I would stop. I cursed myself for being a little girl, as the flight attendant pressed her lips together, bowed her head and smiled, knowingly.

My parents just came through town last night and today, for a quick visit on their way from North Carolina to Pennsylvania, where they will be attending my Dad's 50th college reunion in Bethlehem. We're about halfway. I got over my resentment about the cause of the visit not being JUST to stop and SEE ME, but because we're halfway, and really enjoyed their quick trip.

My son loves my father, and it floors my mother, who works so hard f0r each giggle and grin. I loved watching them interact, I love that my Dad asks my son a question and makes him figure out the answer.. not giving it away until it's right. I watch him instilling the same curiosity he did in us, and I know that will last a lifetime.

I even got a kick out of cooking them all a gourmet breakfast this morning, while I had Grandma watching the toddler.

When they pulled away today (the first time), I started to get a little weepy. Misty. I was holding my son, who was saying, "buh bye, Gammaw, buh bye, Gammpa," and I looked at him, wondering if he could sense the transformation back to "little girl" that I feel when my parents leave and I'm not ready for them to yet.

We got a call 15 minutes later. They couldn't find my Dad's wallet.
"Where was Dad's sweatshirt.. is his wallet inside?"
"Yep, got it here."
"Oh, geez, we need to turn around. Okay, be there in 15 minutes."