I encountered two things this weekend.
One was a family of five, out to Sunday brunch. Two parents and three people in their early twenties who were obviously the couple's children. The parents and two of the children were of average stature. The remaining kid (I feel weird calling him that, as he had stubble on his face) was...well, he was little. Not so little as to likely be affected by any sort of achondroplasia (I studied those and other genetic conditions affecting stature when Little Child was a sick little baby, so I feel pretty confident in saying that), and his body and features appeared to be perfectly proportionate, he just...wasn't very big. I was both trying not to stare and desperately trying to figure out how tall the guy was; I hope he didn't notice. I just...well. It made me think about Little Child, and wonder if he'll be THAT little when he's that age. I don't ever want anyone, no matter how well-meaning, to stare at my baby ever again (we got plenty of that when he had a tube taped to his face and later snaking out of his clothes and running into a backpack), and yet that's exactly what I ended up doing to the young man I saw today. For the first time ever I questioned my opposition of the notion of growth hormones for Little Child except in the case of an actual deficiency; I still think we should give him a minute to get used to not having a G-tube. I still don't like the idea of meddling with his endocrine system. He's not even seven and I think we have time to leave the kid the hell alone for a bit and see what his body does on its own. But...well, if he really isn't even going to hit five feet, and he's still healthy in a couple of years...MAYBE.
We'll see I guess.
The other thing was a trio of wee little dogs belonging to another large-ish family I encountered in a business context. They were mini-pinschers (the dogs, not the family, although one of the kids was chatty and informed me the dogs were also related), a breed of dog I've long admired, and they were ferociously opposed to my encroachment into what they obviously considered to be their territory. "Would you like to pet one," the chatty tween boy asked, having noticed how taken I was with the dogs, "the mom might nip you but the babies won't." And he proffered one of his dogs, which he held out easily with one hand under its chest, while his father was signing some paperwork.
I never really considered myself a "big-dog person," having grown up with small dogs, but reader, I had no idea how to even go about petting a dog so tiny! I finally ended up stroking the little beast's head with one finger, chortling in utter glee.
And now I'd really like to get a mini-pinscher when Isis goes.
Hotter says no, but hopefully I've got at least a decade to work on him.
Sent from The Precious