My husband and our son embarked on a skiing trip this past weekend, while my eight-year-old daughter, Lily, and I opted to stay home. Lily is currently within the eight-week period of refraining from sports following a mononucleosis diagnosis. Although she appears well, she still tires easily.
Morning at the Park
On Saturday morning, we visited a local park where I jogged while she rode her bike along the familiar path beside me. Typically, we complete two laps, with her often biking ahead before circling back to wait for me. However, after just one lap around the reservoir, she asked, somewhat hesitantly, if we could take a break, expressing fatigue in her legs. I reassured her, embracing her and agreeing it was fine to head back home. While loading her bike into the car, I mentally chastised myself for suggesting the outing; perhaps it was unwise to remind her of her ongoing recovery.
Reading Together
Upon returning home, we snuggled up in my bed to finish reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. We have a tradition of celebrating the completion of each book by watching its corresponding film. As I read the concluding chapters, Lily’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and she frequently interrupted with questions, demonstrating her complete engagement with the story. The room was dimly lit by lamps on either side of the bed, and a fan provided a gentle, soothing hum. This tranquil afternoon spent reading is one of my greatest joys, made even better by the fact that Lily shares my love for such moments.
Movie Time
Once we finished the book, I retrieved the DVD from the closet, nestled between folded sweaters. I had purchased it as we neared the end of the book. Lily’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Can I watch it now, Mommy?” she began, then quickly corrected herself, “Oh, I mean, may I?” I had evidently corrected her on this too many times.
“Of course, Lily.” I placed the DVD into an old laptop and pressed play. She settled back against the pillows, her fatigue evident in her slender shoulders and slow exhale, her eyes heavy yet fixed on the screen. I recalled the days following her mono diagnosis, when she would fall asleep anywhere—in the car, at the kitchen table, or in front of the TV, reminiscent of an infant.
Dinner at Bella’s Bistro
After the film concluded, we decided to dine at one of our favorite spots, Bella’s Bistro, just a couple of blocks away. Lily held her American Girl doll, dressed in her finest outfit, in one hand while instinctively clasping mine with the other. I tried to push aside the thought that these moments were fleeting—the days when she desired to hold my hand for no particular reason, and when simply going out to dinner together felt like an exhilarating adventure.
We settled into a cozy booth in the warmly lit restaurant and ordered our usual favorites: a plate of children’s nachos to start, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for me, ginger ale for her, along with plain pasta and a Cobb salad. Recently, Lily had been confidently ordering for herself, making direct eye contact with the server and saying, “Please, may I have.” Witnessing her assertiveness filled me with pride. After our drinks arrived, Lily leaned forward to savor her ginger ale. With her straw in hand, she scanned the restaurant, observing the other diners, the news on the television, and checking on her doll, Julie, nestled beside her. I watched her absorb the atmosphere, her joyful demeanor reflecting back at me before diverting her attention to the surroundings.
A Bond Through Time
Lily embodies my past, carrying within her chocolate-brown eyes the memories of my early challenges as a mother, while simultaneously representing my future, propelling me forward as she grows at an alarming pace. Sometimes, being with her feels like tumbling through time, back to my own childhood, lost in a maze of reflections that intertwine our identities. This connection is both the source of my profound bond with Lily and the foundation of many of my anxieties regarding her upbringing.
“Mummy?” Lily’s voice cut through my reverie as she posed an intricate question about Voldemort. I shook my head slightly, focusing on her and responding as best I could. Just then, our nachos arrived, causing Lily to giggle as she lifted a chip, almost sending the entire plate airborne. When our main courses were served, she raised her glass of ginger ale, cradling it with both hands and beaming at me, reaching out to clink our glasses together. “Cheers!” she exclaimed. “It’s so much fun to have dinner just the two of us, Mum.” I fought back tears, tapping my wine glass against hers and smiling in return. Yes, I wanted to say, it is. But I feared that speaking would unleash my emotions, potentially alarming her. A single thought echoed in my mind: We won’t come back here.
A Walk Home
After dinner, we strolled home, hand in hand. This experience serves as a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of childhood and the importance of cherishing each moment spent together.
Further Reading
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Conclusion
In summary, the weekend spent with Lily was a blend of joy and reflection, emphasizing the bittersweet nature of her growth and the inevitable changes that lie ahead.