This weekend I took our daughter swimming with a friend.
Nothing too spectacular; her mother in a bathing suit; all the children of the world in one body of water; someone named Alynna having a birthday party; water up my nose and in my face.
But we had fun and made it out unscathed.
You know that cry your child makes? Not the one where they’re hurt and then okay but just needed a little hug. The one where they’re seriously not okay and you are frozen in time and it’s like the cry has become its own person.
It’s reaching out from your child, scaled the walls around you, and surrounded your entire being.
That’s the one my child suddenly started making while I was trying to pee after we were all dry from swimming.
And my friend?
Cool as a Muther Heffin’ cucumber.
She simply suggested I hurry on with my pee.
This sweet angel of a friend didn’t set off my anxiety, she didn’t spark my concern; she just asked that I hurry up so that she could get to the sink.
It was the crying that wouldn’t allow the pee to flow.
So I hurried and opened the door.
To: OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE WHY IS THERE BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE? WHY ISN’T EVERYONE PANICING AND RUNNING AROUND IN CIRCLES? WHERE IS THE LIFEGUARD? WHERE ARE THE PARAMETICS? WHY HAVEN’T WE CALLED 911? WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO HER MOUTH AND HER NOSE? WHO’S GOING TO PAY FOR RECONSTRUCTIVE SUGERY?
I ran to the door of the pool area.
I screamed at a lifeguard.
I ran back.
My mouth made primal noises, I shuffled, grabbed tissues I didn’t use, and got in the way.
I think I blacked out.
The whole thing might have taken 5 minutes.
But when I came to my senses there was my sweet sweet friend wiping off my daughter, getting blood on her sweater, and crying because she was worried I wouldn’t let her watch my child ever again.
I think we’ve established who the crazy one is.
Thank you, Sarah.
Thank you for being there.
I needed you.
But more importantly, she needed you.
I love you.