Growing up is something I expected, but it was never something I thought about until I found myself missing the memories I created as a kid. Looking back, I did not notice how much one moment meant to me until I realized that it was a piece of my childhood I would never get back.

I was inspired by the idea of being a mom, so I carried a doll around pretending it was real. I was three. It feels like just yesterday when I was sitting inside my first grade classroom learning how to count to 100. I was six. The magic in holidays faded away after being told that Santa and the Easter Bunny were not real, which is something that made Christmas and Easter just a little bit more special. I was eight. I used to dream of turning 13, becoming a teenager and being able to wear makeup. I was 10. I was eager to start middle school, because I would get my own locker instead of having to share a cubby with a classmate. I was 12. Sometimes, I wish life could go back to being as simple as it used to be, when school was adding numbers below ten and learning how to pronounce the letter A. Because now, I am 16, and I wish I was six. 

But now I am 16, and there is more to life than playing house and watching cartoons. My mom no longer picks out my outfits, or packs my lunch like she used to. Now, she is teaching me how to drive so I can get myself to places on my own. I have a job, so I can buy my own things; which makes sense because now I want more than a chocolate candy bar. My mom no longer does my hair, or wakes me up for school. And in two years, I will be 18 and living on my own. I do not want to be 18, because I am already 16, and I wish I was six. 

“Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things,” -Kurt Vonnegut