I am feeling all vulnerable today.
It happens sometimes.
What’s that phrase for the overcurved surface of liquid in a glass?
That magic tension that supports and holds the water above its seeming limit.
Another sparkling drop. And another.
Until that last one falls . . . breaks the surface tension. And there is a tumbling and a spilling, and a return to equilibrium.
Yes, thank you. I knew you would know.
I have not yet had a return to equilibrium.
I am fragile and delicate today.
I am all overfilled with emotion.
And on this day of magic tension?
There is so much powerful magic.
Magic in the soft yielding pudgy flesh of a baby. A baby crawling on the grass beneath me. I reached down to pick her up and put her back on her blanket, where she was determined not to stay. As my hands met her middle, as my skin sought hers, the sensation of sinking into this child who was not my child was overwhelming for a minute.
I was just stunned as memory washed over me. How could I have forgotten what this felt like?
It was not so very long ago that my children felt this way. And my hands sought and sank into my daughters’ yielding flesh as I lifted. Not so long ago.
But I had forgotten.
Magic in the harder, less cooperative flesh of my own children. We were at the lake today, and I ran out of the aerosol sunscreen that the girls prefer. So I instead helped rub in the squeezed-out dollops from the tube they do not prefer.
And beneath my hands . . . their shoulders, their backs, their necks, their faces.
Oh my god.
And as they ran from me, impatient to the water?
My hands were on fire with the knowledge of who they once were and who they are.
And who they have yet to become.
Magic in my face in the mirror. In my own flesh. In this face I see my daughters. I see that baby who is not mine. I see my mother.
I see me . . . . many versions of me.
And I am overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.
And also by my smallness, my role in this world.
I have tension today.
I await the return of equilibrium.
Drop by drop.