The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
“What size do you want to be?” it asked.
“Oh, I’m not particular as to size,” Alice hastily replied; “only one doesn’t like changing so often, you know.”
“I don’t know,” said the Caterpillar…
…”Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, I should like to be a little larger, Sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Alice, “three inches is such a wretched height to be.”
–Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
It’s hard to be content. It’s hard to be content when you are big, and it’s hard to be content when you are small.
Q has been dreaming big dreams about when he gets bigger (or smaller). Like Alice, he isn’t sure what size exactly would be ideal, he just knows he isn’t content yet.
“When I get big I’m going to drive a big lawnmower. A big red lawnmower.”
“When I am bigger I’m going to ride a skateboard and a motorcycle.”
“When I’m taller and have big muscles like you mommy, den I can get Sheldon out of his bed too.”
“When I’m smaller, den I can get frushed down the toilet”
“When I get big, I can drive a car”
“When I get really really tall, den I can drive Papa’s tractor”
“When I get small and cutie pie like Sheldon, den I can get in his baby bed”
When you are older and on the other side of puberty you stop wishing to be a certain height, you start wishing to be a certain age and weight.
I wish to be younger; I wish to be thinner. I think about how great my legs will look once I workout while I eat a brownie. I think about wrinkles, and how I should probably wear sunblock or a hat, or maybe buy some magic cream to block them out and MINIMIZE them. I fantasize about the college days where I could pretty much sleep as long as I wanted, whenever I wanted. My dreams are less motor-oriented, but they are still dreams.
“Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar.