Yesterday it rained. Nothing catastrophic—just enough to darken most of the sidewalk and make the fallen leaves in the tree lawn slippery. The tree next to my usual parking spot dropped a cold splatter directly on my head. That tree is a jerk.
I, of course, was running late. I rushed through the usual routine: Purse strap over my shoulder, the pocket with the house key twisted to the outside. Diaper bag strap balanced on top of purse strap, its bulk shoved to the back for balance. Car key thrust into my front pocket. Daughter's hat repositioned. Daughter unstrapped, pulled forward, and lifted out of the car seat.
“Did you pick me up?” She sounded delighted, as if it didn’t occur to her that I would get her out of the car, but she loved the idea. She’s been phrasing her observations in the form of a question lately; she’s already prepared for Alex Trebek.
“Yes, honey, I picked you up.” I nudged the car door around with my hip and kicked it closed.
“You’re strong, Mom Tiger!” She grinned at me—a genuine grin with loads of teeth and dimples and honest satisfaction. The sort of grin that gets less frequent in adulthood.
I stared at her, because I am not strong.
I am possibly the least strong person she has encountered in her two years of living. I can do less than one push-up. I try to avoid taking three flights of stairs at a time. I’m afraid of bees, heights, and giving blood—doctors in general, if we’re being honest. Walking into a roomful of people I don’t know makes me want to hide in the bathroom. I routinely lie awake in bed for hours after turning out the lights, staring at the ceiling and worrying. And in the months after my father died, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling in the daytime too, letting the precious weekend mornings with my adoring daughter slip away.
Despite the cold and the rain and the lateness, I spun her around in my arms. She shrieked with laughter, eyes full of the strong mom who can lift her up.
The diaper bag fell off of my shoulder, spilling clean socks and extra toddler jeans into a murky puddle on the sidewalk. And for a few moments, I didn’t care.
I'm as strong as a tiger.
***
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