My daughter was three months old when she asserted herself. In no uncertain terms, she advised me that she would no longer permit herself to be held by any other human beings, with the possible, infrequent exception of her father.
Grandma? No.
Sweet church ladies? No.
Random stranger on a street corner? No.
She’s a cautious one, this little girl of mine. When I carried her into church as an infant, she’s scream right into the faces of the kindly church folk who dared invade her personal space, which happened to be a ten foot radius around her tiny body.
I had to take her everywhere with me–and I’m not just talking about when I left the house. If I went into another room, so did she. If I cooked dinner, she clung to my left hip like an agile monkey. She stood on my bathroom counter while I put on makeup and banged on the shower door until I opened it during my showers.
She’s never stayed alone in the church nursery. We’ve never hired anyone besides Grandma to babysit her. She hasn’t gone to preschool, to a class or to a friend’s house.
But yesterday at the pool, she and her best buddy went over to the grill area to beg for food. His parents were grilling hot-dogs and steaks and to my great shock, my little girl climbed right up on a picnic table bench and made herself at home. I sat at the edge of the pool, watching from afar.
I saw someone on the far edge of the pool that I needed to talk to, so I strolled over to tell my daughter where I’d be. She said, “Mommy, can you go away?” She was chatting up a storm, eating s’mores and watermelon and completely, utterly free of concern about my location.
Tonight, at the pool, her best buddy’s mom was in the big pool, so my formerly shy daughter insisted on walking over to say hello to her. Before I knew it, my girl was climbing down the stairs into the pool and walking along the wall, clinging to the edge. (The water comes up to her shoulders.)
Last year, she wouldn’t leave the stairs of the pool. Last year, she wouldn’t let me out of spitting distance. Last year, she was only two, going on three. Now, she’s three, going on four and what a difference a year has made.
My girl walked away from me without even looking back until she was at the distant side of the pool. I tried to be sad, to conjure up some tearful regret that my baby is growing up, but all I felt was relief that the tether between us has lengthened and that finally, my little shy girl trusts some other adults to keep her safe and to look out for her when she’s up to her neck in water.
And I was grateful for the little world I live in where other parents tenderly look out for my children and where I feel free to say, “Slow down, buddy! No running!” to the little guy in a swim-diaper and saggy suit. We were so lucky to be in a warm place with a cool breeze, watching the children frolic as the sun sunk lower in the sky.
And so begins another summer, even as the era of clinging monkey-girl comes to an end.
(Then, when she got out of the pool, the other mother came over to tell her what a great job she did walking around the edges and she raised her hand–this other mother–and said, “High-five!” And my daughter pointedly ignored her, so she repeated herself, “High-five!” and my daughter looked at her rather severely and said, “No.”
I was so proud.)
Actual Unretouched Photo 