We did a lot on your birthday. We talked about your perfect day beforehand and you orchestrated every detail of the day. It started with bacon and waffles in the morning, followed by a trip to the beach and smoothies on the way home. You wanted to buy one thing on Amazon, and then get to pick to show we watched as a family after dinner.
You're pretty low-maintenance kind of guy, and this is exactly what I would expect from you as a perfect day.
And it was a perfect day. But for me, there is a moment that will stick out forever in my mind as the perfect moment. It wasn't the birthday parade that we had in the driveway. It wasn't the surprise visit from your Taekwondo instructors. It wasn't your sweet face when you realized that momma got you a medium smoothie instead of a small one, a real upgrade for a 7-year-old.
My favorite moment with you on your birthday happened at the beach. I was sitting in a lounge chair under an awning because it was starting to sprinkle. I watched you run and play in the waves, completely immersed in your happy place.
I watched the grey clouds moving quickly, and was a little bummed that your birthday trip to the beach was more clouds than it was sunshine. And then it started to pour. Everything around us turned to grey. The only thing that stood out was your bright orange swim shirt. The swim shirt you won't swim without because you're one of the most modest kids that I know.
As the rain got heavier and the clouds got darker, your orange shirt, jumping and splashing and playing in the waves was all I could see. And then I stood up.
I stood up. I took off my cover-up and flicked off my flip-flops. And I ran.
I ran through the deep sand that made it hard to move my feet. I ran through the compact sand that was wet and littered with shells. When the cold waves hit my toes for the first time, I kept running.
In my floral mom bathing suit that's probably a little too small, with my chunky thighs, makeup-free face, and messy mom bun,
I ran to you.
In the downpour. I ran to you.
Through the cold choppy waves.
I ran to you.
Through my own insecurities and the pelting rain. I ran to you.
And your face, when you turned around and saw that it was just me and you and the rain, was one I will remember forever. We jumped and we splashed and we twirled. You and me, surrounded by grey for as far as we could see.
Our playful jumps turned into a conversion about nature and creation. And as I tried to answer all of your questions, I wanted time to stop. For you, it was a playful dance in an afternoon thunderstorm, but for me, it was so much more.
It was a reminder that I will always run to you. I will run to you when it's hard and when it’s uncomfortable and when it's hard to see. I’ll run to you when you need me, and even when you think you don’t.
In the waves, and in the storm, nothing else mattered because I was with you. I ran to you 2555 days ago when you cried for the first time in the middle of the night. I ran to you when you fell off the slide for the first time, when you thought you were lost in a crowded space for the first time, and when you broke your first board in taekwondo. I ran to you the first time you felt left out, and all the times you’ve felt proud of yourself. And defeated. And insecure. And excited.
I ran to you then. I run to you now. I will always run toward you.
In the waves, in the storm, in the chaos, in the uncertainty, in the fear, in the doubt, in the grey.
I will run to you.
Happy birthday, sweet boy.
No comments:
Post a Comment