My son loved Touch-a-Truck. There were dozens of trucks to climb onto and into and around.
It was his own personal nirvana.
My daughter loved Touch-a-Truck for about 30 minutes and then spent the rest of the day riding around in the stroller.
She was a bit of a pill that day. Complaining. Whining. Disinterested. Wanting to go home. The stroller was the only thing that appeased her.
It transformed her from annoying to blissful.
And while she looked a little ridiculous stuffed inside, I kind of loved it, too.
Clara won’t fit in the stroller for much longer. She barely fits now. Before I know it, my days of pushing my little girl around fairgrounds and zoos and amusement parks will be over, and I will yearn for a time when that is not true.
In fact, that day at Touch-a-Truck may have been the last time that my daughter ever climbs into our stroller again. It may have been the last time that I ever get to push my little girl around. I try to be cognizant of those possible last moments. I try to remain aware of the tragedy of time so these occasions don’t pass by unnoticed and unmarked.
I thought about all of this and more as I pushed my daughter around those trucks and tractors and rally cars that day. I tried to soak it all in. Capture every moment in my mind. Record every detail. Live in the moment.
I tried not to be sad about the fact that my little girl isn’t so little anymore.
