My husband and son hit the slopes this weekend, while my 8-year-old daughter, Mia, and I opted for a cozy day at home. Mia is still in her eight-week recovery phase from mono, and although she seems fine, she still tires easily. On Saturday morning, we ventured to Fresh Pond. I jogged while she pedaled alongside me on her bike. Typically, she zips ahead of me and loops back, but this time, after one lap around the reservoir, she nervously asked if we could stop. With a slight pant, she mentioned her tired legs. I hugged her tightly and agreed it was best to head home. As I loaded her bike into the car, I scolded myself for suggesting the outing in the first place. Was it wise to remind her of her lingering fatigue?
Once home, we snuggled up in my bed to finish reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Every time we complete one of the Harry Potter books, we reward ourselves with the movie. Mia sat beside me, her eyes sparkling as I read the final chapters. She occasionally interrupted with questions that showed she was fully engaged. The dimly lit room, with soft light from the lamps and the gentle hum of a fan, created the perfect atmosphere for an afternoon of reading. It’s a joy that Mia shares this love for quiet days with me.
After we finished, I rummaged through the closet for the movie, hidden between my sweaters. As I pulled it out, Mia’s face lit up. “Can I watch that now, Mum?” she started, then corrected herself, “Oh, I mean, may I?” I guess I’ve corrected her on that one a few too many times.
“Of course, Mia.” I set up the old laptop to play the DVD. She nestled against the pillows, her exhaustion evident in her slumped shoulders and heavy sighs. I remembered the early days after her mono diagnosis when she would fall asleep anywhere—car rides, kitchen tables, even in front of the TV. It felt like a throwback to her baby days.
After the movie, we decided to stroll to our favorite local spot, Bella’s Bistro, for dinner. It was only a couple of blocks away. Mia clutched her American Girl doll, Julie, dressed in her finest outfit, with one hand while slipping her other hand into mine. I couldn’t help but think about how fleeting these moments are—the days when she still wants to hold my hand and the thrill of a dinner out, just the two of us.
Seated in a cozy booth with dark wooden panels, we ordered our usual fare: children’s nachos, a glass of sauvignon blanc for me, ginger ale for her, plain pasta with marinara on the side, and a Cobb salad. Recently, Mia has taken to ordering for herself, looking the server in the eye and saying, “Please, may I have.” I felt an overwhelming sense of pride watching her.
As our drinks arrived, Mia eagerly leaned in to sip her ginger ale. She scanned the restaurant, taking in the sights and sounds, while also checking on Julie, who sat beside her. I loved watching her take in the moment, and she caught my eye, flashing me a smile before returning to her observations.
In Mia, I see both my past and my future—her chocolate brown eyes hold memories of my early struggles as a mother and a glimpse into the whirlwind of her growth. Sometimes, it feels like I’m being pulled back into my own childhood, lost in a maze of reflections that reveal how similar yet different we are. This intricate bond we share is the source of both my connection to her and my fears about raising her well.
“Mum?” Mia asked, breaking my reverie with a detailed question about Voldemort. I shook my head slightly, focused on her, and did my best to answer. Then our nachos arrived, and she giggled when she lifted one, causing the whole plate to rise. When our main courses came, Mia raised her glass of ginger ale, beaming at me as she reached out to clink her glass against mine. “Cheers!” she exclaimed. “It’s so much fun to have dinner just the two of us, Mum.” I blinked back tears, touched my wine glass to hers, and smiled. Yes, it truly is. But I feared that if I spoke, the emotion would spill over in tears, and that might frighten her. A thought echoed in my mind: We won’t be coming back here.
After dinner, we walked home hand in hand, savoring the moment.
Further Reading
For more insights on home insemination, check out our other blog post on intracervical insemination. If you’re looking for guidance on this topic, Make A Mom is an authority worth exploring. And for an excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination, visit CDC ART.
In summary, moments spent with loved ones can be both heartwarming and bittersweet, reminding us of the fleeting nature of time and the joy found in simple pleasures.