We went to the park one gray, quiet morning last weekend just you and I.
Literally, the place was empty.
All you wanted to do was go across the monkey bars by yourself.
Even though you weren't convinced you actually wanted to. Or could.
Just looking at them, so high up, so wide across, made you nervous. You kept telling me you were so little.
You told me to come watch, but to not touch you.
As I eyed the distance from the bars to the tiny, gravelly pebbles below, I wondered just how hurt you'd get if you fell.
That doesn't make me a bad Mama. Just a proactive one ...
So you just hung on and swung and swung.
As I kept the camera in your face.
I kept speaking to you calmly telling you to reach for the next bar. That in order to finish, you first have to start.
Over and over I repeated myself to you. Waited and waited.
Held my breath a little.
I also told you it was OK to be scared.
Everyone, no matter how big, gets scared of reaching for the next solid thing to grasp in life.
But we have to talk ourselves into it.
There's no other way to reach the other side.
And you did.
You reached the next bar, an impressive feat.
Then, even more impressive, you asked for help.
I was right there to do just that.
I'm proud of you.
For trying to do it yourself, and for asking for help.
And I'll always be right beside you, ready to catch you if you fall. Ready to cheer you on when you get to the other side. Ready to wipe your tears if you get hurt.