We keep a digital photo frame by our front door. My mother-in-law gave me the frame. It sits on a music cabinet that Daphne's grandpa made. That way we keep it all in the family. The frame displays pictures from Char's first day, her birthdays, her school days, our family vacations, holidays, and other fun odds and ends.
The pictures are mostly in chronological order, and sometimes I'll get stuck standing in front of the frame watching baby pictures of Charlotte crawl by.
It makes my heart ache with a mixture of love, pride, and loss.
The feelings of love and the pride are easy to explain. The feeling of loss is a bit trickier. It stems from the passage of time.
I'll use a running analogy. I used to be a runner: marathons, road races, running clubs... the whole bit. That was over ten years ago. I see people running now, and I think Man, I miss being a runner. That looks like so much fun.
Here's the thing; it's been so long since I've run anywhere that I forgot how grueling running can be. You have to deal with unexpected injuries, sore muscles, endless hills, fighting dehydration, aching feet, and uneven pavement. I've fought my way through pouring rain, extreme cold, high winds, and even hail. It can be so exhausting. Running is not for the faint of heart. It is hard work.
The same goes for parenting. I look at those early pictures and I forget about all the tough stuff. You have to deal with unexpected injuries, unexpected illnesses, and unexpected dirty diapers. There's the endless screaming, the endless crying, and the endless nights that go with them. Your days are filled with binkies, bath times, and Bubble Guppies. And there's that real fear that you'll lose their favorite pacifier or stuffed animal, and your world will end. It can be so exhausting. Parenting is not for the faint of heart. It is hard work.
But then I walk by that digital picture frame and see baby Charlotte smiling at me. That's when all the memories of that work washes away, and I think Man, I miss having a toddler. That looks like so much fun.
And that's when my feelings of loss kick in. I won't have a toddler again. Those days are gone. Time moves in only one direction, and each picture is a landmark that cannot be returned to. All those moments that I'll never get back flash in succession before me, and I start to fall into a rabbit hole of sadness.
Do you know what saves me from my despair?
These damn things.
These horrible grocery carts remind me that having a little one wasn't always fun and games.
Char had just turned three years old when we moved into our new neighborhood. She was about two years younger than the youngest neighbor living there, and she wasn't included in a lot of their playgroup games. One child had a battery-powered car that could carry two children.
The kid would drive by our house with a passenger, and they would shout at Charlotte who was standing in our driveway. They'd yell, "Hi, Charlotte." Char would shout a hopeful "Hi!" in return, but they never stopped, and they never offered her a ride. It was just a quick wave and a giggle and off they'd go down the sidewalk.
I hated that car.
I also think that car was the reason we would have to get the "race car" every time we went grocery shopping with our daughter. It was finally her chance to get a ride.
There are the three reasons why I also hated these carts.
1) The Competition.
We usually went grocery shopping on weekends. There could be up to 15 little kids in the store and only three racing carts. Char would be crushed when we didn't get a race car and another kid in one would glide past us with a wave and a giggle. More than once I have stopped driving in the parking lot to let Daphne get out to run to the cart corral and grab a racer before some other parent did. That's way too much pressure on you when all you really want is a gallon of milk.
2) They're unwieldily.
Check out the wheel placement on this cart. The wheels in the middle (under the 32) are in a fixed position to roll straight. The front and rear wheels rotate. This makes the racer cart turn much differently that a regular shopping cart. It should be second nature to push one of these around, but it's not. I'd turn wildly into end caps, bang into freezer doors, and sideswipe other people's carts. Trying to turn around in the middle of the aisle was a nightmare. I could ram another customer or swipe boxes of cereal off of a shelf. It was embarrassing. I felt like an idiot. To make things worse, Charlotte would scold me, "Daaad! Steer better!"
3) They're uncomfortable.
