growing in the goo

I just babysat for two of my cousins, one is five (boy) and the other is about 19 months (girl). They are so cute, and well-behaved. The five year old spent the whole time watching TV (okay, I'm a stinky babysitter) but I spent most of the time reading or eating with the 19 month old...who I'll call Caro.

Caro is awesome. When I came inside, she kept screaming my name and running past me. I'd grab her, then throw her up and down in the air. While she was cracking up, I kept having visions of me getting thrown up on. But luckily, her dinner stayed down.

Since I was hungry, and my aunt had left pizza, I heated up two pieces in the microwave. When the 40 seconds had passed, I sat on the kitchen floor with Caro and we each had a gatorade juicebox. I had asked her if she wanted pizza, but she said no. However, once I had taken two bites of my piece, she took it out of my hand and smashed it into her face, in an effort to eat.

That leads me to believe that she doesn't understand the words "Do you want a piece?"

So then we were sitting side by side on the kitchen floor, eating a piece of pizza and sipping Gatorade. It was such a moment.

Later, she was sitting on my lap and I was reading "Bye Bye Elmo." She was still working on her pizza crust (Uno's, you know how bready that is) and she smushed the crust into my jean skirt. I don't know why.

Then we have this thing where she wears the two gummi bracelets that I'm always sporting. She'll put one on each arm, then I'll say "Preeettty!!" and she's psyched. We also play "let's empty meghan's pocketbook" and she goes through the load of junk I have in there. Depending on the day, and what I've been doing, she may find a camera, my bathing suit, a book, two pairs of sunglasses, three different things of lip gloss, and of course, my wallet with the multi-colored debit cards, and the key chain with the whistle on it. And my indestructible phone.

I was just sitting there with her, enjoying the time, thinking that she's the most adorable thing ever, and that when I'm 42, she'll be 22. So weird. And it stinks to know that she's not going to remember all of these fun times, and that perhaps I'll forget them as well. So...I decided that I have to write this down in my real journal, that way I can look back and say "Oh yes!"

Leaving my family is going to be the hardest part about moving to D.C. I don't want to become "the cousin whose name they have to ask before they see me" (as my younger brother put it). I love hanging out with all of them. Sure, it gets stressful sometimes trying to keep them all in line ("NO you cannot climb that 12 foot ladder!" "STOP putting that plastic bag over your head!!" <- two things I've said in the past week), but when it comes down to it, I'm so blessed to have all of them. They're my friends, my support staff, my ego boosters. And I'm their substitute mom, the one who comes over when their parents have to go to work. The one who makes brownies all the time, haha. And I let them lick the bowl!

It's going to be awfully hard saying goodbye. I've promised them that once I have a job, I'll have some money, and I'll come home for random weekends as much as possible. But I can't help but feel like I've cheated them in some way. They thought that I'd be staying home once I graduated from college. And I remember their faces when they learned I was applying to jobs in Washington.

Growing up is so hard sometimes. Especially when the two things that you want the most are at direct odds with one another.