Posted by michelle on Tuesday, October 19, 2010 / Labels: parenting
A few months or so ago we were at the lake.
The cousins were all on the dock floating and jumping off the sides.
The older boys were doing gainers and cannonballs and even the occasional belly flop.
And by older I am including some in their 30s and 40s and possibly even me.
Owen was a little more cautious.
He was floating and splashing happily enough in the water.
But he wouldn’t have anything to do with jumping in.
You could tell he wanted to join in, but I couldn’t convince him that his life vest would hold him up.
And that even though it might be a little scary at first.
That it would be fun.
Eventually I talked him up the ladder, and he was staring over the edge.
But not jumping.
I nodded to my brother to give him a little push.
And he looked back at me, like are you sure?
And I insisted.
And it didn’t take much.
Just a little nudge.
And Owen went flying over the side.
Screaming and gasping a little.
Only to scurry up the ladder and do it at least another 40 times before I finally insisted that he come in.
Lately I haven’t been sleeping well.
And not because of my kids (although coughs, barking dogs, and cover stealing 2 year olds sure don’t help).
But I can’t seem to turn my head off.
My thoughts circle and swim.
And although I have never really been a worrier,
I do question and examine and wonder.
And replay conversations from yesterday and twenty years ago.
I pray and count and take Tylonal PM with little relief.
I have been here before.
It isn’t new.
But it isn’t normal.
There have been a handful of things swimming through my head these last few nights.
Some of them are my own. And others are friends that could use a little carrying.
Currents and pasts and a few all mixed together.
But mostly, what keeps me up comes down to fear.
Of being afraid to jump.
And I just need a push.
And the assurance that I won’t drown.
To dive in.