Tuesday, Jan. 02, 2007

A Day At The Park


Her soft, golden blonde curls, touched with just the faintest glaze of sunset, bounce against the hot pink of her jacket, her little toddler legs moving as fast as they could carry her to the steps of the brown and tan play structure. The green grass poking up through the fallen oak leaves, with the gnarled and naked tree trunks rising up from the carpet of live and dead vegetation like sentinels overseeing the cycle of life itself, provide a mottled and peaceful backdrop for the new January twilight.

I take a moment to stand back, on the molded rubber cushion, to watch my little blonde angel hike up the short 4-step staircase. She turns seeking me out, and when she finds that I haven't climbed with her, she points down towards her feet. "Steps. Steps, Mommy." As if I had maybe lost my way and needed a prompt.

I smile at her. "Do you want Mommy to come up with you?"

"Mommy up! Steps!"

I climb the steps, as bid. A short walkway and one giant step up later, we're at the slide. Her favorite. Her large, perfectly blue eyes light up as she maneuvers her limbs to settle on the top of the slide. With a push, she rides the tan plastic chute to the ground. "Whee!" she exclaims. This part is critical to slide enjoyment, as everyone well knows.

I so enjoy watching her that, again, when she turns around she finds me this time still at the top of the platform, as yet unslid. She gives me a momentary look of quizzical impatience, before throwing up her little hands in the air, dropping them back to her side as she says, "Whee, Mommy. Whee. Mommy slide."

Whee, indeed. I move to sit, in slide preparation, and her face brightens in the realization that, yes, you can teach an old Mommy new tricks. "Whee!" I slide. She claps, and when I reach the bottom, she throws her arms around my neck. I feel her cool cheek against mine, feel the rapid-fire pounding of her little heart. For a split second, I'm transported to about two and a half years ago when I was laying on a table in a darkened room, watching my little peanut for the very first time in shades of gray and seeing an image of that same heart pulse on a flat, bright screen.

Then, the second is over, as is the hug, as she tears off again towards the staircase. She throws over her shoulder as she runs, "Steps, Mommy! Steps!" like I needed her to show me the way.

Maybe, one day, she'll know that she's done that since the day she was conceived. And, she'll do that until the day the last breath leaves my body.

Steps, baby. I'm right behind you.

***

What did I do yesterday? I took my kid to the park.

You already know the rest.

saturncat at 9:37 p.m.

previous | next