Baby Steps

I’m sound asleep, snuggled up with Sookie and Dee, when I feel it: a nagging intuition that something is happening, something I won’t want to miss. I gingerly pry my eyelids apart, bracing myself for a cry, a yell, anything to indicate the reason behind my waking. Then it hits me: nothing is wrong. In fact, I think I’ve found the culprit who has ripped me from my peaceful slumber. It’s the sun.

Streaming in through the small slit between my bedroom curtains, the sun nudges me awake. I stretch my arms out over my head, extending my fingers to their absolute maximum length; I try to reach the foot of the bed with my toes. I relish the phenomenon of waking with such a feeling of peace, calm and rest. I swing myself into an Indian-style sitting position so I can open the curtains to witness the full glory of our very first real spring day.

There is no therapy today, no pressing appointments. I don’t have to be at school until five o’clock this afternoon. Indisputably, there are tasks that could use attention around the house, but my mind is singing and dancing to the beat of a beautiful day…one that should not be wasted on such drudgery. I want to dance around a May-pole; I want to take a bike ride with my little girl; I want to bust out of this house like a cannonball. The winter may not have been particularly cruel, but it was long. Months and months we’ve spent cooped up in this house, staring at each other and wishing for a better climate as if the mere thought would bring spring to our doorstep any sooner. .

My daughter – my sweet, bright, amazing little girl – will be turning three years old in less than a month, and she has never been to a playground. That’s right…never. We’ve had so many reasons not to go: her issues with crowds; her tendency to go into sensory overload with too much noise; my fear that the other kids and parents won’t understand her. If I’m being perfectly honest here, the last item in that list is the biggest, and the hardest for me to tackle.

This is a day for conquering fears. At lunch, our little family piles into the car and heads out to meet the day. We stop at the Polish buffet for a bite to eat, where the princess has the most interesting lunch I’ve ever seen: pickles, Jello and soft-serve ice cream…washed down by chocolate milk. Nothing but the best for The Princess! We visit the library, where we realize our little one has quite a bit of pent-up energy. We leave the library, tails between our legs (but giggling the entire way) after she decides to run full-tilt, squealing like a maniac, up and down the aisles.

We drive across town to the huge playground, the one we’ve driven past no less than five hundred times. The very same one I’ve wished I could bring her to more times than I can count, but I never had the nerve. We pull into the parking lot and find a spot. I cut the engine and set the parking brake. The Hubbs and I are getting out of the car, walking over to The Princess's door and releasing her. This is really happening.

She walks with us, hand-in-hand, not sure what is in store. She enjoys the swing for a few minutes – she’s never been a fan of swing sets so far, but I’m sure we’ll break her of that when we have one of our own – before going into a near-meltdown. Daddy nips it in the bud and gets her smiling again in no time.

We can do this.

I take her hand and walk her to the top of a small slide, about the size of Sakina’s. Daddy stands at the bottom, hands outstretched to catch her. Ready, set, GO! And she’s off. She squeals in delight, turning around to climb the slide so she can do it again…stairs be damned.

She plays in the sand. She takes my hand and we climb through the wooden tower to meet the curvy big-kid slide. Daddy, always our knight in shining armor, valiantly vows to catch her once again. I help her into the tube, and she looks back at me with a gut-wrenching mixture of excitement and fear in her eyes. She trusts me. She knows I won’t let her do anything that will hurt her.

I’m going to have to let go.

And when I do, she careens down the slide without Mommy or Daddy in sight. She pops out the other side into her Daddy’s arms, and is halfway between happy and terrified. We won’t do it again today, but at least we can say we survived it once.

Baby steps.