Here’s the scene.  Chad and I are having a lovely morning/afternoon date, and we stopped in Target (as parents most often do on such occasions).  We had a big anniversary party to go to that evening (Chad’s grandparents’ 60th to be exact) and Ada had cried the day before that she didn’t have a dress fancy enough to wear.  I was feeling soft and generous, so we decided to look through the little girls’ section for a dress.  I found some I liked and looked for her size.

Wait.  These go up to 5T.  She’s a 6 now.

So we go to the big little girls’ section to look for a dress.  There are exactly zero dresses there that match Ada’s personality.  They are all meant for tweens who watch iCarly and talk about boys.  Not for my Ada.

So we go BACK to the little girls’ section, and I begin to panic.  Perhaps I can find a dress that will work as a shirt with cute leggings.  Good idea, Janna.  Looking, looking, looking.  I look at Chad.  “Is this crazy?”  “Maybe a little,” he says.

We, the Orlikowski family, have officially outgrown the little kids’ section at Target entirely and completely.

So I did what I do when I’m sad.  I bolted.  Get me out of here before I cry.  Go.  Evacuate the premises.  This is not a drill!  I WILL NOT CRY IN TARGET.

I didn’t talk for a while.  Chad knows this side of me, and knows what to do.  He let me be silent.  I love him.  I get the best of both worlds with Ada.  She grows up developmentally, but stays little physically.  I can still carry her when she falls asleep on the couch or when she is crying.  She still fits on my lap.  Her personality IS those cute little frilly dresses that are fun to twirl in.

Oh, Ada.  Can I have this girl back, even just for a bit?