This post is dedicated to my not so little Bundle Of Joy who on a daily basis is battling her body's reaction to life. Sickness abounds in our family, but she presses on. Refusing to allow her body to reside in the in between times. Always hoping for a better day. Always reminding me that the brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm.
When raising kids, it is hard to recognize the in between times. Mostly these transitional times feel like they will last forever. There is no perspective, no compass, no direction. There is just the Now. The accepted way. The label.
There may be a slight chance however that during one of these in between times, if you pay careful attention, you may briefly see beyond. A portal.
Trust me, it is simply a mirage but it will keep you moving forward, I promise.
My long ago First Born 2 year old loved the baby swings. He could sit for many minutes, always asking for more pushes. We would push him so high. His smiles were so wonderful. His laugh so contagious. Sometimes while pushing him from behind, we would lightheartedly pull off his shoes and throw them in the air. His ecstatic crazy laughter would ring to the heavens. No one could resist the happiness, the lightness of being. It was a truly an amazing event to be a party to.
But alas, my First Born never learned how to pump. He graduated into the Big Boy swings hesitantly. By age 4 he much preferred to run around on the playground, playing hide and go seek or some sort of Star Wars lightsaber game. The swings were forgotten so quickly. Enter the in between time.
The in between time can last for so long - until the child determines to find themselves again. I imagine this happens again after puberty and on into the teenage years (but I'm not there yet). This in between time is such a lonely road for parents. The nagging, the discipline, the loving, the sleepless nights, the rewards and the simple teaching is a one way street. No longer is the laughing synchronized. No longer do we have the same mission.
It is easy to begin to forget.
Forget the uninhibited laughter.
Forget the spontaneous habits.
Forget the easeful happy nature.
Enter the in between time. This time can last a day, a month or sometimes a few years. I am caught up with the Now. I try so hard to help us all get better. To get us back on track. Wishful thinking in the midst of war. Weapons in the form of medicine, tutors, consequences, hugs, tone of voice, lullabies and routines enter the scene. Blinders are worn by parents so that we don't feel the hurt. The hurt of loss. Loss of our child.
And then all of a sudden a time portal opens and we see beyond the now. We see our child's happy future. We see the payoff.
Last evening, I coaxed my First Born 9 year old to get on a swing. My smile already was starting to spread. He allowed me to push him higher and higher. His unabashed happiness at the highness of his swing and the air pushing past him made me laugh. I laughed and he laughed together for a long while. He intently listened to me instructing him on how to move his body so that he could push himself. And he swung himself higher and higher. I glowed in his presence. This was my portal into my child's future. I held on for as long as I could - I got as close as I could to the center of the portal without stepping through. Hope.
As life lumbers by there are these glimpses of hope that pass us by so quickly. My fingers have been broken from holding on so tightly. I desire to see the end result but dearly don't want to miss what's right in front of me. I let go. I give in to the In Between.
As I gaze back upon my 37 years of life it is the In Between moments (years) that have become hazy. Mostly it is the Portals I remember. A moment of freedom. I remember feeling this way during my 6th grade Field Day. It was a lovely spring day in Garfield Park. The chains that held the swings went up for a mile. My hair danced in the wind. My lips couldn't help but perk up. My body swung within the motion of our earth. I laughed through my awkwardness. There was hope.
I live through Hope. Hope that someday my First Born will remember to dance uninhibited to his own forgotten tune without being weighed down by his In Between times.