Sunday evening. Sam, Speedy and I were chatting while watching TV. Sam was asking about the boat shoes that I was supposed to buy Speedy for his birthday earlier this month but which we ended up not buying because the ones we found were too narrow. Don’t ask anymore why “boat shoes.” That’s what Speedy wanted, I swear I don’t understand but I did ask him what he wanted for his birthday and that was that.
Anyway, after Sam found out that we still haven’t found the shoes that her father wanted, she said there are so many available but we just weren’t looking in the right places. She asked to borrow Speedy’s laptop, Speedy said she should get hers from her room, she said she was too lazy to go upstairs and insisted on borrowing her father’s so she could show us how many models of boat shoes Vans has. She even showed me a pair, in aqua, that she thought I’d like and I told her to stop already because I might end up buying all the shoes I wanted instead of finding one for her father.
So, Sam was sprawled on the bed, surfing, and wowing us with her finds. It was such a domestic scene. Relaxed. Peaceful. Warm. Genial. It was as though we were in an emotional and mental cuddle. It was sooooo good. Suddenly, I felt… how should I explain it? There was my daughter, taller than I am, with legs that go on forever and all I could think of was the tiny baby I gave birth to. And I said to Speedy, “Look how she’s grown… Remember the day we brought her home from the hospital?”
And Speedy replied, standing up and exclaiming comically with an exaggerated voice, “Yes! And I said, oh my God, my baby’s orange!”
Sam looked at her father and said sharply, “Nooooooooooo! I am not an oompa loompa!”
Well, she definitely was no ooompa loompa but, yes, she was a bit orange. Yellow-orange, to be more precise.
Sam had neonatal jaundice which is more prevalent among premature babies. Sam was born after only eight
weeks months of gestation. It was a difficult pregnancy. I wrote all about it before so I won’t repeat the story anymore.
The thing is, it’s quite amazing to imagine how the full-grown 18-year-old (19, in August) browsing pages and pages of Vans shoes could have been that tiny yellow-orange baby (not an oompa loompa). Has it really been almost nineteen years? I rocked and sang that baby to sleep but the girl with long-flowing hair, and definitely not orange-skinned, on the bed that Sunday night is someone I can’t lift with both hands. How could she have grown so much, and so fast, right under our noses?
How time flies.