We are slowly creating a late-winter, Sunday afternoon ritual that is focused on swing time for the Girl. We headed to Southside Park Sunday, and as we sat there, K and I realized it was a better choice than our usual one: less crowded and closer.
The Girl was pleased, too.
Such a change from the first time we were at Southside. Still wobbly-footed and wary of being alone, she wouldn’t let us out of her sight.
And naturally, we didn’t want her out of our reach. Wobbles turning to dangerous tumbles — the nightmare I continually endured at playgrounds last year. “They’re made to bounce,” Nana and Papa say, but my gut isn’t made to bounce: it dropped every time she fell, filling my head with visions of — well, no need to go there.
Now, when she’s playing, the Girl makes the choice whether or not to play near us, and I’m only moderately paranoid. I’m sure that moderate paranoia will continue until she’s in her thirties or so.
Or maybe it is a permanent fixture.
It is the flip side of the joy of seeing her smile, of hearing her laugh. It is the worry that it won’t always be so. And why worry about that? Certainly she’ll have her share of bruises, emotional and physical, and it’s only natural that I want to protect her from them — at least minimize the impact. Yet we learn from the pain. In theory.
L still doesn’t learn from the pain. At least, she’s not convinced. She knows the cat doesn’t like being tugged and violently hugged, and she knows what the cat’s claws are capable of, but every few days, the Girl tests the hypothesis again.
At least now the threats are visible, and the cause and cure clear.
Indeed, this is the only time that K and I can kiss the pain away. Pain floats away, removed with a kiss that is then blown into the empty distance. “Bye bye!” L says after we blow away the kiss that took away the pain.
Broken hearts and disappointment aren’t so easily mended.
But with everyone playing on a cool Sunday afternoon, these thoughts drift away.
The guns are still plastic.
Some time around now (age 2 -3) you switch from wanting to protect her from hurt to helping her cope when it hits. That’ll be her mark of true independence. For me, that switch (from protecting to helping with coping skills) was very liberating — a huge load was lifted when I realized I couldn’t (and shouldn’t) try to keep daughters away from life’s hurts.
But then it switched again — to the terror of their vulnerability — and it happened quite simply when they started driving. Both are safe drivers, but I live in a state that has impossibly high rates of drunk driver accidents. I was delighted that for college and beyond, they moved to cities were virtually no one kept cars.
Of course, when I “walked them home” late at night (by talking with them on their cells), other fears emerged.
I guess the golden years were exactly the ones you’re entering: old enough to make choices, but too young to be really damaged by them. Enjoy!
Your comments always make me see something that was sitting in front of me all the time: I’ve already begun making that switch. Just before we left for the park, in fact, she was playing on the stairs in the carport while I trimmed a tree. I believe I unconsciously realized that even if she fell — and she did — she knew how to fall now and wouldn’t get hurt. The tumble came, and the crying began, but I was trying more to calm her than worrying about whether she really got hurt.
Beautiful pictures and dialog…reminds me of the many afternoons we spent at the museum, fire stations, “sliding board Hardees”, etc. when you were small! Sorry to disappoint you, but the paranoia continues even when your baby has babies!
These are beautiful shots of The Girl. We are so delighted that you and Kinga are “into photography” – it makes sharing her life with us on a regular basis so wonderful. Of course they’re designed to bounce but my heart bounces with her.
But I do worry about when she might be permanently hurt when she falls – I recall carrying you to the emergency room twice for stitches. But then you healed and probably was a lot wiser for it.
I simply don’t want her hurt on my watch.