In early August, Brooke, Micah, Mia and I drove down to the Oregon Coast along with our friend Amber for a brief camping adventure. We were especially drawn to Tillamook because there are free cheese samples there. But, aside from the free cheese, the Oregon coastline is truly amazing. Especially on a sunny weekend like the one we had.
One whole day was spent on the beach, enjoying the sounds of the surf, gazing out at the ebb and flow of the waves of the Pacific, admiring the hilly tree-lined cliffs that butted up against the beaches, and running hands and feet through soft, warm sand.
Micah seemed to really enjoy his time on the beach, but I couldn’t be perfectly relaxed. We put a beach towel down on the sand and laid him on this. I tried to make sure he had sunscreen all over, and we made some shade for him with our moby wrap tied to a big piece of driftwood. But of course, Micah wiggled and squirmed, and the shade didn’t really protect him from the sun as well as I would have liked. I found myself worrying that he would get burned (and if he did, of course it would be all my fault.) And then there was the sand…
Micah immediately discovered the sand and his little hands worked like tractors scooping up baby-fistfuls of the golden stuff and dropping it everywhere. All over his towel, all over himself, all over his face. I could see the glimmering of specks of sand on his eyelashes and in his ears and on his lips. He never put handfuls of sand in his mouth, thank the Lord, but sand got pretty much everywhere. I tried to gently wipe the sand off of him, off of his face, off of the towel. The sunscreen application, though, made this a tougher task as it worked like glue, keeping all the shimmer stuck on Micah’s skin. In addition to Micah’s playing and squirming, there was a slight breeze that was blowing sand onto us anyway. It would have been impossible to keep my baby sand-free. And because of this, I worried. What if sand got in his eyes? What if he ate some? What if the sand got into the crevices of his skin and irritated him? Once again, fearing that if any one of these things happened, I would be at fault and feel terrible for not being more attentive. And to be really honest, some small part of me was just annoyed at the “dirtiness” of it– wanting to keep my baby perfectly clean.
Then, there was another mom on the beach spending the day with her three children playing in the surf and the sand. I could hear her yelling at her children to stop playing in the sand because they were “getting sand everywhere.” She continued to yell at them to wash themselves more thoroughly in the ocean waves because they were covered in sand and dirty. Internally, I was so upset at this woman. I couldn’t believe the way she was speaking with her children, and found myself uttering a little prayer: “Lord, help me from ever being like that.” I despised her control-freak-like ways, and found myself saying more than once, “Geesh, lady, you’re at a beach for crying out loud. Get a grip. Of course sand gets everywhere.”
And the moment hit. Speck of sand in her eye, log of driftwood in mine. Oh Lord, I am that woman trying to control things that are not mine to control. I never thought of myself as controlling before motherhood. But it seems like it’s almost impossible not to be with the level of responsibility that comes with being entrusted to care for such a vulnerable little one. Yet I think this is the great challenge of Motherhood — allowing life to be messy or maybe even painful recognizing that with or without anxiety, sand does just get everywhere.
This morning I drove Micah into school with me at the early hour of 7 am. (He is picked up by grandma at school once a week.) Usually he sleeps on the morning trek, but today he was very much awake and quite content. He was singing almost the entire half-hour long ride. His sweet little baby voice rising and falling in coos and breathy whispers and sighs and such. It was quite melodic, and surely heavenly. I found myself tearing up as I listened. It was the sweetest thing I have ever heard.
Eyes would follow him as we walked the streets. Faces would break into smiles and voices would sigh and gasp and start rapidly speaking in Italian, “Ciao, piccolino!” Strangers would grasp at his feet, and kiss them– or maybe even kiss his cheeks. People would point at Micah and tell their companions to come out of stores to simply look at the baby. Now I would love to take credit for all of this– and to say that Micah is such a beautiful baby that he elicits this response. Part of this is true- Micah is a beautiful baby. But more than this, I credit the Italians’ response to a few things.
Almost every place we went, we were welcomed with a child–rather than some experiences we have had here in the States where babies and young children are viewed primarily as a nuisance or distraction.
