In my five-year-old self's opinion, there was such a delicate elegance in covering my face with stickers, wearing a princess dress, putting on a tu-tu over it, and wearing my grandpa's sun hat and giant sunglasses. I was the one who started the trend of layering.
But, however much I loved my princess dresses, there was nothing like the long, draping dresses in my mom's closet and her rows and rows of glittering shoes. My polyester Snow White costume just couldn't compare to the feel of the black velvet against my skin that made me feel like royalty or the heels that let me imagine myself as a sophisticated doctor working in New York City.
One of the things that annoyed me the most about school was that I couldn't wear my mom's shoes to school. As I whined, my mom would gently take a foot out of a shoe and buckle it into my own sneakers. She'd always say that I could wear them when my feet could fill up all the space. It was a routine. I'd always respond with "They are big enough", but whenever I looked down, I'd still see a big gap between my heel and the heel of the shoe and frown.
When I'd get home from school, I'd rush back into my mom's closet and strap on her shoes to see if my feet grew four inches over six hours. They never did, but I would swear that I saw some improvement. At night, after my mom had tucked me in, I'd squeeze my eyes shut and pray as hard as I could to grow up faster. I imagined how my life would be when I became a teenager. I would be the best student in high school and also be a doctor after school (I never was one for being realistic). My wardrobe would be two stories high and would be filled with my mom's dresses, my princess dresses, and dresses that I'd design myself. I'd finally be able to play Fur Elise and stop having a sickle foot in ballet. Every day, I would wear a pink dress to school and change into a lavender gown and white coat for doctor-ing. If only I could have a word with toddler me now.
Something that has not changed between then and now is my love of a good tea party (though I have matured to the stage that I know not to expect to become full by eating cucumber sandwiches). A week ago, as I finished dressing for a tea party, I saw a pair of my mom's vintage gray kitten heels. They were the ones I always used to want to wear to school. I slipped my feet into it, the shape of it still familiar, with the slight arch rising from the center and the insole near the right pinky toe slightly fraying. I slid the rest of my feet in, but the back pinched my heels, closing in with a tight nip at my skin. It was too small.
I took off one shoe and held it in my hand for a bit. It felt like a reunion with my childhood self. As I sat there, one foot awkwardly squeezed into the vintage gray kitten heel, I couldn't help but laugh at the memory of my younger self desperately trying to fill those shoes.
In the crazy dreams of my glamorous future life, I had forgotten to appreciate the simplicity of toddlerhood—the era of no worries, just pure, unadulterated fun. The joy of pretending a lollipop stick was a cigarette, thinking I was drunk from apple cider, and racing raindrops from the car window was a celebration of innocence and imagination. Back then, there was no pressure to fill anyone else's shoes but my own toddler-sized ones.
Night after night, I wished to be a teenager, imagining a life filled with academic success, a glamorous wardrobe, and the ability to pursue my dreams. Yet, in my relentless pursuit of tomorrow, I failed to appreciate the beauty of today.
As I slipped my other foot out of the snug heel, I couldn't help but smile again. The shoes may be too small now, but the memories they held were vast and timeless. The longing to grow up faster had transformed into an appreciation for the journey that led me here.
So, here's to embracing the toddler within us and relishing each moment of the chapter we're in now. :)
Cheers,
emma