renegade

We left the park on Monday wasp-stung (me) and black-eyed (Alice). Still, a successful morning. Motherhood means more joy and less perfection. On Monday it meant holding Alice's hand while that little bugger of a sting throbbed under her grasp. Gladly.

My hand was still throbbing a bit when I went to bed that night, but I woke up the next morning with hardly a trace of the incident. Just a slight red dot remains. Alice, on the other hand, has gotten progressively more bruised under her right eye since her misstep on the playground. She doesn't seem to mind, though it certainly adds to her recently acquired renegade, ragamuffin, fearlessness. At that playground she was taking on slides and tunnels totally solo. She has started eyeing our deck stairs, considering a descent on her own. Her blazing courage is awesome and terrifying. I've appreciated how careful she's been up to now, but seeing her toddle off across wood chips toward play structures without looking back? I feel proud. My girl is brave.

So, I will take her hand any moments she offers it. And I will attempt to revel in her letting it go and running off into wild and free adventures. Within reason. Those deck stairs are still off limits.