I thought I heard the rain again. It’s pitch black and I don’t remember the forecast predicting anything other than 60s but it’s raining. The light clapping sound on my roof and the slapping off my backyard concrete, proof. So I decided to bring my trusty laptop outside and talk to you. 😊
I love the rain. There’s something cleansing about it. I’m one of those that feels the need to walk straight into it and stand there, unprotected, feeling the drops splash on and about me. I love the sense of cleanliness and new start it seems to provide, no matter how unrealistic my wish may be. Thinking back, my most favorite memories of the rain came after becoming a Mom. I remember many late nights of my husband working (often to make up for days he’d been at home relieving me after seizures) when the rain would be pouuuurrrring down and I’d throw the back slider open and walk to the very edge of the patio cover holding my little man. He’d giggle and stare into oblivion trying to visually capture the raindrops I attempted to explain to his tiny little mind. It didn’t matter; I just wanted to smell it. See it. Listen.
So I took him out in the rain. You’ll probably think I’m a “bad Mom” but he was only a month when we first danced. (He was quite fond of music and dancing by then… probably by force lol) And so we escaped the security of the patio and caught our first drops of mischief. And then we did it again and again- every time it rained, I took him out. He loved “catching” the drops and I couldn’t resist the giggle that soon turned into a belly laugh each time we headed out. I don’t believe in dancing in the rain (super cheesy) yet we waltzed to keep the smile on his lips and wonder in his eyes. He loved it from then on. Nothing soothed him like the water. It makes sense now since he’s almost 4 and wants nothing more than to be in the ocean, on his surfboard with Daddy. But it was us first. Giggling, soaking wet, disobeying every Mom “don’t do this or your kid’ll get sick rule.” I’d hold him tight and dip him until he learned to hold his face up and feel the droplets on his own. I’ll never forget the pure joy on his face as he tried to grasp how such a tangible thing could fall from a blue/grey abyss. He was puzzled yet so curious… and trusting. I loved that; he knew I’d protect him no matter what. And he saw the joy on my face, felt my laughter echo against his chest, heard me repeat silly songs we’d often danced to on dry afternoons in the house far before he could even crawl.
I wrote this last time it rained- not that long ago since the weather’s been so unpredictable- and came across it today while cleaning out my files. I love this piece. It’s my baby and I. A brief snippet of the many times we both shared true happiness while my Epilepsy tried to rob us of it. He just turned 4 on Friday and I swear he’s the most knowledgeable toddler you’ll ever find when it comes to my disease. It makes sense though, since he’s always taken care of me- been my strength- even before those moments in the rain.
One perfect day, when we’re both too old to give a crap if we’re cheesy (lol), after he’s gone surfing with Daddy, and unexpected rain suddenly starts to fall, I’ll put on our old tunes and he’ll want to dance with me again… belly laughs and all. Because by then Mommy will have a cure… :) And what we’ve been through trumps any second thoughts of silliness.