Still that young

We’re racing. Are we ever not these days, I wonder. The toddler is strapped into the stroller, he won’t wait any longer. I have carried the five-year old’s bicycle down the steps. The picnic is packed. I remembered everyone’s water bottles. We’re due to meet the other mothers and babies in fifteen minutes. If we walk fast to the park we will be fine.

Put your shoes on, where is your bicycle helmet, I ask. The five-year old protests. Close to an emotional meltdown. Keep it together. Not just her, but me too. If I lose my patience now we’re sunk. Emotional meltdowns in highly strung five-year olds take too much time. I remember now, the helmet is on her father’s desk. I run inside to retrieve it and as I do I remember why it was there. The helmet has peeled apart and while it has lost none of its safety features it has lost all of its aesthetic ones. I dread showing it to her. She is at an age now where she can describe something as “too embarrassing”. She will dissolve into floods of tears and disappointment when she sees the helmet. But she will be just as disappointed to be told to walk instead.

Poker face on and I hand her the helmet. Daddy hasn’t had time to fix it yet, I say. And how old are you exactly, I wonder, too old to wear this monstrosity on your head? A moment passes. The toddler bucks against the restraints of his stroller reminding us that he is there. The five-year old shrugs and puts the helmet on. Ah, so you are still that young my sweet.

We’re on our way.