Sunday morning, attired in small scraps of cloth, I read a novel while lying in a hammock strung between two palm trees whose broad leaves sheltered clusters of green fruit that looked as perfectly perfect as any plastic sukka decoration.
After lunch, we sipped (virgin for me) strawberry daiquiris as we stretched out on giant beds on stilts with bamboo roofs filtering the sun. Then we walked the white beach and waded into the clear teal water, cool on our toasted flesh. As the waves lapped at my naked belly, I wondered if the baby felt differently* when I was treading in the water, and that led me to reflect on my own childhood water experiences. When I was little, the big summer treat was to don housecoats and splash around the grey waters of the muddy Lakewood lake. That was the beach for us. My baby will visit beautiful beaches wearing skimpy bathing suits and revel in the gorgeousness of the natural world. I’m so grateful I can participate in all of the world, now, and so excited that I will be able to give my child that gift, of being fully alive, fully engaged with the splendor of all there is to experience.
*I”ve been feeling little kicks for a while now, although they are more like soft little gurgles against my inside skin. But after I got out of the ocean, having played and jumped and swam for a good hour or two**, when I lay back down on the sunbed, the baby gave me a KAPOW! kick. It was the coolest thing ever.
**I am now (back home), in agony, as my incandescent purple skin reminds me, belatedly, of the dangers of the sun + not-tznius swim wear.Printable Version