Old Enough

We're getting ready for the twins' arrival. The other day we all put together the changing table that my in-laws graciously provided, and moved some things around in the spare bedroom. Then I chased the kids around the house.

What fun. They hide under the sheets, or in the bathtub behind the shower curtains, and I do a great impression of something from the Jurassic era, with great stomping steps, sniffing of the air, and lots of growling and muttering. Sometimes I'll throw in a "Fee Fi Fo Fum!" for good measure. With all that tee-heeing and giggling they never stay hidden for long.

Then I stop and look in the mirror. Everytime we have another child I get all reflective and stuff. Or... maybe more reflective than usual. This time around, I notice my hairline is receding, slowly but surely. I wonder if it will stop receding before it gets to my neck. I've got a lot more gray hairs than I did when Esther was born. Heh.

I still see myself as that little kid in the second grade with shaggy hair covering my big head. When I was a kid I always wondered how my parents could've ever been kids, something that could only occur in some freakish parallel universe. I wonder if that's how my kids feel.

I suddenly have the strange thought that I'm not old enough to have kids. After two, I still don't have a clue what I'm doing. Ummm... that is, unless I'm careening through the halls with one of them on my back and the other is only a hairs-breadth away from being tagged, squealing with delight. Or my little girl wants me to read her Curious George. Or my son wants me to play with his trains. Or it's time to roast marshmallows in the fireplace. Or catch fireflies. Or listen to the wind howling outside while we make Owl hooting sounds in the dark.

Maybe not being old enough is a good thing.