1. Awakening. I was at the beach this weekend. Apero-diner. That means you bring everything you can easily eat without needing to be around a dinner table and pick on this and munch on that and dip into tour after tour (do you see me going in for a fifth dive into the guac). With that early evening sun. That perfect mini-pool that the sea has created with the tide going out. A basin of water that is warm and calm. Nina is already pulling one leg into her combi. Papa lifts her up, the timing just right to catch her coming down from a jump to launch her like that tiger in Madagascar 3 that flies through a burning hoop full speed into that combi and zip her up tight. Sometimes you have a moment where you catch the eye of another woman who has a child. The moment where Mother Nature has your child in her hand. Where your partner is chilled out by the chillax vibe that Mother Nature provides. And you and the woman smile because it’s the same thought: in this moment, I’m just me. We talked for a long time. Too easy, like old friends with no barrier to guard oneself from sharing what’s actually real. Oh man, post partum! I had a thought once when she wouldn’t stop crying that was only a thought but…YES! And everyone just tries to say we’re so in love from the first second, but some of us are still thinking there’s a baby in my arms. Forever. And how do you explain? The sun starts coming down with my beach cup full of white wine. Half-eaten kid sandwiches (but they all eat the chips). The stories wind their way through interruptions of new friends arriving, wet combis that need to come off, a dog wandering too far away. And then we both have to pee. I keep a roll of toilet paper in the car. New mom friend and me are taking turns squatting beside my car, talking through pant drops about whatever it is that is that carries you from apero-diner party at the beach to the trailhead where all the camping cars are parked. Hours later, Nina is wrapped up in my arms, the beach fire sending it’s whiff of smoke up like extended arms into the sky as we, too, look up and reach for the stars. Little guitar with little tunes next to my little girl. And the woman with her tired child, cradling him as she says goodbye. We already exchanged numbers. Back to it being us: mama and child. Mama and child. Nina and me. If I could have carried her the whole way home with my heart beating against her sleepy face…
2. Faith. Cabrel was singing.
Y a sûrement quelqu’un qui écoute
Là -haut dans l’univers
I hear her voice say comme Patou (son papy).
3. Courage. Cours de natation adulte perfectionnment. Not really even sure what I signed up for, but I told myself just to go with it. And then I told myself no no no just get out of it. I was scared of not understanding what I needed to do or not being good enough of a swimmer to even be in the class. Somehow you get started on these conversations in your head, and then you’re talking to yourself outloud – and then you have to explain why you’re doing so with your child. And then Nina volunteers to come with me to the class to make sure she can explain everything. Because last week she ended her first week of level 2 swimming class. And at age 4 (nearly 5), she was the smallest and youngest in that class. And every day I watched her laugh and go for it, not caring if she couldn’t go as fast or keep her form as long as the others. And I watched on that final day as the teacher looked her over on purpose and skipped asking her to swim the 25 meters with waves being simulated in the pool. And I looked up in surprise with all the other parents when we heard her sweet voice say Marc, je veux essayer (I want to try). It was that face she makes. She exhales, drops her shoulders, and focuses her eyes out on that magical unicorn in the distance that only she can see. And whatever it is, she goes for it. I was clenching my left fingers in my right hand. If I squeezed hard enough, she would be okay. The universe would feel the pressure and send out angelic orbs to carry her through. No fear. Nothing to hold her back. All you have to do ma puce, tu fais ton mieux. You just try your best. I was so proud. So proud that she wasn’t afraid to try. That she wasn’t afraid to fail. She made it half way through that pool. She wasn’t ready to go to level 3, but something in her just said trust yourself. And something in me just said trust yourself when I put my goggles in my bag and headed out the door to class last night. Her sweet voice cheering me on.
4. Love.
I have to tell you something.
Oui, je sais maman.
Huh? What is it that you think I’m going to tell you?
Que tu m’aimes. (she smiles) Tu me dis tous les jours, maman.
THE CACHETTE 