Tracy and I are in the kitchen making dinner. Shea is sorting wine corks into ramekins on the floor of the kitchen. Shea gets up and scampers off to the bathroom screaming, "I REALLY gotta go." When she gets back we got to talking to Shea about how big she is. This is how the conversation goes.
"I really had to go."
"But you made it, right?" I say.
"Ya. Because I'm big," she says.
"You are big, Shea. Although sometimes I wish you were still little. I like you big, but sometimes I wish you were still small."
"I wish you were small," Tracy says.
"Just sometimes," I say.
"Well, that's just how life is going to be," Shea fires back. Tracy and I look at each other knowingly and nod. Damn it if she isn't right.
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