I squeeze my sweet boy tight, inhaling his soft skin and delighting in his beautiful self. Yet, as I hold him and love him I gaze wistfully below me to the pool. I feel the familiar catch in my throat and chest as I think "I used to love doing that."
I loved swimming. I miss it. I miss the silence as I dove into the water, the murmur of the world above as I pushed my body to work, the strength that I felt...the escape.
I don't swim anymore. Babies, sickness, finances, family, exhaustion....oh, that thing called life....it consumes me and swims don't happen. I wouldn't trade my life for anything, my loves are an absolute gift, and yet I am dishonest if I don't admit that self-forgetfulness is hard, and sometimes life feels very heavy.
Then she grabs my hand, my darling mama. "Come on Emily," she says, "you and I are going on the water slide." She offers to go first, to show me that if I point my toes and touch them I will fly. She laughs out loud as she flies down the slide, losing control around the corners, splashing water up over the side. She points her toes and shows me that it is good to delight in a moment of fun.
I feel strangely nervous as I sit at the top waiting for the red light to turn green. I take off, point my toes, and feel a true thrill as I fly. I laugh. I arrive at the bottom and she says, "AGAIN."
Us two mamas do the slide again, and even again. We laugh and our hair is wet, our hands are like raisins. I walk back to my boy and squeeze him tight. Yet, the wistfulness is gone. That moment of fun on the water slide erased the small sorrow of the moment and replaced it with gratitude. This was a gift and a lesson to me... to seek instances of joy as refreshment on this incredible journey of love that is life.
Thank you, Mama.
xoxo
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