"Look at the balloons!! Look at the doggie!!" she cried, pigtails bouncing, and she twirled in circles as her voice rose ever higher...

We had flowers! We had cupcakes! We had...  balloons! Oh yes, the balloons, look at the balloons! I clapped my hands and skipped across the room. "Look at the balloons!"

My sister laughed, and then apologized immediately. I'm sorry, she said, but with your little voice, which I would NEVER make fun of, and the skipping.. it's the like the story Mom tells..."

 I cut her off.  She's telling a story from my baby book. I was three years old. My mom said "Emily, look, here comes Gaugie (my great-grandmother) and I responded, in great excitement, "Where's the doggy?? Where's the doggy??" It was apparently the piercing quality of my overwhelmingly excited little voice that everyone remembers. And I remind my sister of myself as a tiny child.

Now I'm 39, not 3, and I am  not supposed to skip and clap about balloons or doggies. Never mind that the pink and white and polka-dot balloons (which I've always considered a big luxury) were the perfect complement to the other decor for our younger sister's baby shower, which I'd worked so hard on, or that my entire career is based on dogs. I'm not supposed to get so excited.  I'm a grown-up now.  I'm not supposed to be delighted by fields of wildflowers, or by frogs, or snakes, puppies or kittens. It doesn't matter how I feel. I'm not supposed to let my voice betray my emotion. And I probably shouldn't feel so much, either.  If I feel awe-inspired, I should be careful not to act that way. The proper response to joy is apparently to remain still and smile sedately, like a lady, and lying in the dirt to get a closer look at something wild is simply not attractive.   

Yes, I'm a grown-up now, and I'm quite capable of the seriousness required of me. I can discuss theology and philosophy and practice medicine. You can even call me Doctor, if you want.  But why shouldn't I still delight in balloons and flowers and doggies and examine tiny dead crabs and seashells? Why is it unnatural that I should punctuate my days with skips and and claps when those are the appropriate markers of emotion? And if my voice were not so "young," would a little childlike freedom from a 40 year old woman be less disquieting?