We returned to Atlanta this past Saturday from your first beach vacation and I've just unpacked my suitcase and started the first load of post-trip laundry. You are taking a hard earned nap and I fought the urge to pick up a trashy detective novel and whip up some frosty libation. But we're not on vacation anymore and I've reluctantly turned my attention to more domestic tasks like cleaning and blogging (you'll notice which of the two I started first).
I've heard folks complain about never managing to truly relax on vacation once you have kids; these people clearly don't have relatives like yours. Your Nona, Grandaddy, Aunt Katie, Aunt Christa and Uncle Kurt logged some serious hours with you and for one week I had chunks of time (hour after hour after hour) of free time. I didn't realize how much I yearned for some time alone until the morning I took off on a slow jog down the beach and realized that there wasn't another soul around. I talked aloud to myself, I stopped and watched the surf roll in and didn't once look around to see if you were sucking on something dangerous, opening a drawer with chemicals in it or headed towards the stairs.
And about the time I was sure I would die of heat stroke I realized I was anxious to see you. How sweet to walk into the beach house, feel the blast of cold air and see you sitting in your high chair eating your Nona's banana-in-an-ice-cream-cone invention. Being apart, even for just an hour or so, made seeing you that much sweeter.
Your dad and I are fairly devoted to the idea and practices associated with attachment parenting. I'm still breastfeeding, you sleep with us, you spent very little time in strollers and car seats when you were tiny, etc. We like to think that our choices will encourage you to explore the world as one who knows she is always securely attached at the base, the root, the beginning. Attachment theory, however, does not mean that the parents must be glued to the child, anticipating and meeting every whim and need. Perhaps what will encourage you to be brave and independent (and always safe) is watching your parents model that behavior.
One day last week your Poppa and I left you with Nona and hopped in our kayaks for a little paddle around the ocean and lagoon. I had not been in my kayak since before I was pregnant and--logically or no--I was really nervous. Paddling into the itty bitty waves I noticed the death grip on my paddle and the air in my lungs that I'd neglected to let out for too long. It only took a few minutes, however, for me to find the rhythm and sway of the ocean and I looked back to see you and Nona waving us goodbye. Is there any chance that the image of your parents out to sea will stick around in your memory somewhere? I'd like to think that the sight of kayaks on a wide ocean will remind you of me one day. I hope that the feeling of freedom I experienced that afternoon is one you experience throughout your life. Incidentally, on that trip your Poppa and I kayaked with two dolphins for over an hour in water that was so shallow they couldn't fully submerge. Again, I found myself unable to breathe quite right.
I think I've returned from vacation able to mother you better for the stretches of time I got to spend apart. By the look of things, you were having so much fun I doubt you even registered my absence. But like the tide, I may go out but I'll always come back in.
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