The view from here
He pulls me along and we poke our toes in the sand. His blond fuzzball head covered obediently with a hat and his ever so pudgy fingers squeeze my hand tightly as waves lap at our feet. I spent his first year trying to find ways to soothe his colicky, high-need baby self. I’ve spent this first part of his second just trying to keep up with him. He will change his world someday, whatever that world is that ends up being his circle. He refuses to be a spectator and will not let life or adventure pass him by.
I say a silent thank you while I walk with this youngest one on the beach, a thank you for a husband willing to do hard and sometimes unpleasant work for our sake. Driving day in and day out, every month a new sales quota to meet. Missing our mornings, our days, sometimes our dinners and our lazy summer beach days. What a burden we are to his man-shoulders. One I know he gladly, willingly bears but I am foolish to forget that we are heavy on him. Just as easily as I let the days ahead loom over me and tempt me to be overwhelmed, he too just might feel like there is no end in sight, no respite from hard work.
This moment walking on the beach with my toe-headed little boy is perfect. I don’t want to forget. I let him walk me as long and as far as we can go. I push every thought out of my mind and delight in the way he holds onto my pinkie finger. Someday he will be taller than his not-so-tall mama. I’ll look up to him. I’ll tell him he has what it takes and he will let go of my hand. And I might choke up thinking about holding him night after night while he cried and fussed about who knows what.
But for today, I’m loving my view from here.