At five foot five-and-a-half inches, I’m short.
I haven’t always been short, but I am short.
My husband is six-foot three.
My seventeen year old son is six-foot two.
I’m okay with that.
Last night, I went to hug my fourteen year old daughter good night and noticed something odd. I was eye level with her … nose. Going back to back, my husband measured. “Elizabeth is five foot seven.” She giggled.
My mouth dropped open. When did this happen?
Hearing the news, my twelve year old son comes in smiling. Back to back we go. He is five foot six inches tall.
“This is not funny,” I state, hands on my hips.
Tim bellowed. “No, not funny. (snickers and more laughter). It’s hilarious.”