I’ve been wanting to write you for hours. But I put my wants and yearnings aside to do house chores and get rid of the hoarder look by the front door. Yes, the piles of household debris that accumulate and stay, for years it feels like, until they become mountains of things. I’m tired of all of it. So I untangled the mess tonight and it took a long while. Now it’s so extremely late, and I’m exhausted, and writing to you.
I bought a little pool for you, and inflated it, and put it in the front yard with a blanket, some toys, warm water inside, even. And then brought you out. And instant tears about the pool. You don’t like the water, the plastic, the surround-sound, the everything about it. So we played by the pool on one of the hottest days of the year so far. Then, yesterday, we did it again. This time, I got you to dip your toes in for about one full second before you turned to be pulled out. And that’s okay. We’ll do it again, and again. You like big pools, I think. You’ve been in them. And bathtime is awesome. But there’s something about an inflatable pool, and tree shade, and outside air, and exposure, and everything that’s utterly non-okay.
Trump met with the Pope today, Sweet Love. And of all of their discord, and things to cover, the Pope pressed information about Climate Change into Trump’s hands, and urged him to help end fossil fuels. It scared me, Sweet Love. It scares me for you.
Yesterday we went to the park and climbed the big kids’ activity structure. We went all the way to the top, to where the two slides descend, and looked out over your domain. Surveyed the kingdom. The trees gave the playground a shaded, dappled look, and the tanbark only went so far, abrupted by the concrete sidewalks with parents sitting on the edge, looking at cell phones, watching their kids, who were all on the smaller structure, playing some game together and independently. It’s like, older kids have parallel play, as well. They step into interaction with each other, then they step into their own world for a minute, then back. Like the tides. And I felt for you.
It was the two of us standing up there, alone. You, touching the top of a post with the little tip of your finger. Me, thinking that you need your peers. The rich weave of life that’ll catch you, that’ll hold you. And I also knew that, when we go, it’ll be okay. You’ll be a part of the great tapestry, and you’ll be interacting with your own peers. With these little kids, with a world that I’ll never be a part of. You’re of your own world.
We went to the swings and swung together a little bit, you and I, then I put you in the infant swing again, and then we left. It was one big lesson for me, and a re-assurance.
- Your Mama
Addendum: Two days have past since writing this and, yesterday, we went back to that park and rocked it. We went on the swings, down the slides, on the little spring-loaded horse things. WE did it, babe. And had a blast.