Dear Elliot,
We spent three days last week at your great-grandparents’ (the GG’s) cabin. When we left, I cried. In the car. When I got home. Before I went to bed. Because of everything I saw during the trip. Things I tried (and failed) to capture by taking way too many photographs. Things I don’t want to forget so I will write them here so that you too will remember.
You exhibited every cliché there ever was about childhood and innocence and I had to stop myself from crying almost every moment that I watched you at the beach. And the pure, unrestrained joy you had while playing in the sand. Building and decorating beautiful sandcastle condominiums. The squeals of delight that escaped you as your great auntie twirled you in the cold water.
The way your swimsuit rode up your bum. And the folds of your skin shone in the sun.
The sand between your toes and in your bathing suit didn’t bother you. You didn’t even notice it was there, but instead focused on the important things. Collecting rocks. Splashing. Making rivers that flowed away from your princess sand castles.
How you thought it was hilarious to wear a bucket on your head.
How you have no worries about tomorrow because it is still a foggy concept in your mind.
You didn’t hesitate to go swimming in your clothes. I didn’t bring a change of clothes, so you did the sensible thing and took off your wet clothes on the beach. And we walked home with you naked in the stroller underneath a blanket. How you have no idea that these are things an adult would never do.
How I wished you could always look this way. Unjaded. Unphased by everything that you have no idea exists.
How you don’t yet understand that most women are ashamed of their bodies. And were puzzled about why mama wasn’t wearing a swimsuit at the beach. You didn’t spend a second comparing your body to the other children’s. Worrying what they might think about your thighs. Your round belly. It would never occur to you as even a possibility. You were feeling good. Not thinking about anything.
How you had no idea that you were the most beautiful person in that moment.
I wish there were some way for photographs to portray the proper light of smiles. And giggles. And that feeling you get in your gut when you look at someone and know that you have witnessed everything they are inside. That you truly know them.
How you were so inexplicably perfect that I had no idea how you could ever irritate or anger me.
When I looked at you, I saw myself. You helped me revisit a time I thought I could never return to. A summer escape that I only visited with my siblings and grandparents. It meant so much to me to have the GG’s show you that place too. A place filled with the endless possibilities of ice-cream. And water. Sailing. And campfires used to blacken marshmallows. Of cool nights spent reading outdoors under heavy blankets.
Then it upset me that you might not remember the GG’s being there. And that you will forget the feeling that is as much the place as the dot on the map. Or that your adult self will be incapable of feeling such magical things. Of finding such places.
I worry about what will become of this Water Baby. In some ways I hope she does not become like me. A woman who, as a child, loved swimming so much she would jump in with all of her clothes on. Who smiled without a trace of self-consciousness in a swimsuit. Who loved having sand between her toes. And believed she could dig a hole to China.
When I used to look at photographs of myself, the old Water Baby, I didn’t recognize her. I had trouble connecting her to myself. But during the trip you and I looked at old photographs. There was one of me. Of the original Water Baby. You pointed excitedly and said, “That’s me.” And I thought, “Yes, it is.” Thank you for showing me all of this, Elliot. For being me, but for also being so much more.
Priceless tears of joy!!!
Beautiful post – I’m crying here, too! I think because you capture the joy of such an innocent and uninhibited age – and that overwhelming sense of happiness they bring – this line:
‘How you were so inexplicably perfect that I had no idea how you could ever irritate or anger me.’
really hit home for me – as I find myself asking the same of myself when I have those quiet and happy, those tickly and giggly times with Miss E, I think ‘how in the world could I ever get cross with you?’ – then I do, and then the guilt, and then we start all over again!
oh, this is SUCH a sweet post!!
Not fair! Now you made me cry, too.
This is beyond gorgeous. Every time I see one of these letters, from a great writer to their children, I think to myself, “What a gift.” Someday she’ll see this and know just how much you are invested in her happiness.
And it is amazing, the joy with which they embrace life. I understand those tears.
That is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. I’m still crying.
It’s what I like the most about my blog. It is a spot for me to store the things (like this) that I want to remember.
Seriously – whether it’s the lack of sleep, the HP book that’s making me cry, or the fact that the post was amazing…I’m bawling my eyes out.
To my sister,
Your unconditional love for your children and the happiness they bring to you makes me want to have kids even more. This was the most beautifully written post I have read. I had tears in my eyes too – but mostly happy tears, especially remembering the times we dug holes in the sand together.
love you
Your Sister
amazing post. so relevant to me right now.
I love this post. So beautiful. Raising a daughter to be happy seems overwhelming with all of our own body issue hang-ups.
How lovely to be able to capture her innocence…her happiness.
GAR! You owe me a box of kleenex and a hug. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy towards you right now.
Thank-you for sharing her. I was a young Mom again playing with Scarlett. It was the best day at the beach that I can remember in a long time. When you get older you won’t care about other people judging you (because they don’t). You will joyfully get sand in your hair and cracks and not have a care in the world just like when you were little. Love you new Mom.
Beautiful photos. Beautiful post.
She’s lovely, and this letter to her (and yourself) speaks volumes. She is like you – her unabashed joy in the water and her surroundings is the same as your unabashed joy in her.
Our source of joy may change, but our intensity does not.
Beautiful.
Wanna knit a shawl with us?
hanamiknitalong@blogspot.com
They’re all the rage.
Shouldn’t have read that one at work. Thanks a lot.
Sobbing in Cowtown! There is something about kids in water and on a beach – just wait till her little brother starts having water fights with her! I just came off of a 2 week Lake vacation and there’s nothing that makes a parent happier and thankful, than than seeing their kids having fun at the Beach. Thank you for this beautiful, introspective piece…and for the cry. Love you!
thanks-crying now.
something about natural bodies of water …
we never went to the lake as kids, but last week when we took the girls, it was so nostalgic. how does that happen?
a classic ‘family’ moment: fishing, swimming, swinging in the sunset. beautiful.
Sorry about the emotional manipulation, y’all. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me a little bit happy to make you cry as a result of this post. Anyhow, thanks for your very kind comments. Some of them were very eloquently said and made me want to cry all over again.
Oh, and Joline. I will be e-mailing you about he shawl thing. you and Teri are bad, bad influences.
[...] is a linguistic genius. After he cried and then made a co-worker cry by making her read my “Water Baby” post, he said it was “emotional ipecac”. I shall use this term in the future [...]
You captured the essence of what every child should be able to do and be. Lovely.
Hi Andrea, Your post was wonderful, I wish they could keep there innocence. Hope your well, sounds like your having fun with your kids as well. Its amazing what kids can do and the emotions they bring out in us. Take care.
[...] than likely I’ll be busy trying to recapture that sense of magic I felt last year. I’ll be shoving the kids’ faces full of ice-cream hoping to plug their cry holes for [...]