Last night I was talking to my cousin on Facebook. This is impossible because Holly is eight months old. She is certainly not 14 and she is certainly not a Freshman in high school. She is not a Freshman in high school because I was Freshman in high school on the day she was born. And she's my babiest cousin of them all. That's not to say she acts like a baby, just that she's the youngest. The day after she was born I said something completely lame and ridiculous to my Spanish teacher about how she had the same name as my baby cousin. It was so lame and ridiculous that I still remember saying it. And my teacher looked at me like she didn't quite know how to respond. What she ended up saying was, "Good name." What she was likely thinking was, "Well, it's not terribly uncommon you dweeb." But she was young and fun and I found any excuse I could to say anything to her that was not related to Spanish.
It does not make me feel old at all that that teacher was younger than I am now. It does not make me feel old at all that Holly is a Freshman. The fact that I've been out of high school for eleven years and out of college for seven makes me feel young and spry and whippersnapperish.
Nostalgia. It'll get you every time. Sneaks right up to you and yells something about being old. How does the time go so fast? How does Matthew already take up most of his crib? How does Garrett fall asleep with his gangly legs hanging off the side of the bed? How is Holly a Freshman? And, most importantly, how am I going to celebrate my last twentysomething birthday in a matter of days?