high chair.

my child is 5.

f.i.v.e.

and this august, he won't even be that anymore.

he'll be 6.

s.i.x.

(say it slowly...with angst...there. that's how i'm saying it.)

and a week before he turns s.i.x.,

he'll become a 1st grader.

a f.i.r.s.t. grader.

(even angst-ier now, there ya go.)

so..lola, why on earth (you may ask) do you still have this:

in your dining room?

to be honest, (i answer...honestly) i'm really...not...sure.

i realized that it was sitting in my dining room just now,

and decided to take a picture,

and a brief mental/emotional inventory

of my brain, and my heart,

and the mysterious (at least to me, anyway) workings thereof.

i've actually put it away in the garage several times,

but it always manages to make its way back up into the dining room.

hmmmmm.

now, i'm not bringing this up so you can feel sorry for me and say

"oh, that poor, poor lola...she's sure having a rough time isn't she?"

or

"she has a pretty bad life. we should all send her chocolate

and the latest copy of 'chicken soup for the (infertile) soul'."

mmm....not so much.

(except for the part about chocolate...feel free to send chocolate.)

i think i'm telling you this, because i think this is my symbol.

a symbol of something i've already been incredibly blessed to have

(for starters)

and also a symbol of hope.

hope that one day, a little person will sit there again.

that he or she will join us at our family table

and reach for peach chunks with thick, dimpled fingers

knocking over a glass in the process

making us laugh,

and making kort feel big,

and making us feel small,

and making bubbuh feel... well, very, very confused.

(as most pudgy little creatures seem to do these days.)

because when I think of my high chair, it also makes me think of this

and i can't even begin to tell you how ready i am for that.