When we get out of the car and make our way to the playground, I see that there are already about 30 people here, but a steady flow of people just keeps filing in. It's busy today. The swings appear to be the hot spot, so Anna and I hit those first when there is still a free one.
Near the big-kid playground, I park myself on a bench in the shade and watch Anna from there. I see a few kids that seem to be the quintessential park goers, kids you could see at any park in America. First there's the little boy yelling, "Die die die!" as he runs wildly through the wood chips. Of course.
Then I see two girls playing pretend. I hear a snippet of their conversation:
"Call me Mom, okay? Because I'm your mom in the game."
"Yeah, but what's your name?"
"Magenta." (Nice one, I think.) "But call me mom."
I also see a cute girl who actually looks a little bit brainy (if this can be a visible trait), and she just so happens to be carrying a book with her up the stairs and down the slides. I hear her talking to a couple kids at the top of the stairs, showing them her book, and she tells them the name of it:
The Last Airbender. Really? She can't be more than seven. After she goes down the slide, she runs past me with one of the boys she was talking to, taking him to see the "best place to read at the park." She seems so much cooler than I could ever be.
And I see a somewhat headstrong girl who races her friend up the stairs and pushes ahead so she can go down the slide first. She does and waits for her friend to come down so she can gloat. Loudly. I'm glad I'm not playing with her.
This seems especially headstrong (or a little bit bratty) in contrast to Anna, who is playing quietly, if somewhat cautiously, by herself. She makes it up the stairs and is contemplating what to do next. I think, besides being a bit cautious, she's just taking it all in. There's not too much kid chaos around our house, so stuff like this is always eye opening for her. She finally crosses the wobbly bridge to the slides while holding on for dear life to the side rails.
She goes down one slide and then decides she wants to give the little-kid playground a try. I relocate to a bench near the little-kid slides. She's much more confident here and there are fewer kids running around, so that's nice. I can pick out her green shirt much more easily.
When I look up again, I see that Anna has found a friend. She's talking to a girl who is about her height (so she could be around 5—Anna's part giant) with a pink shirt and shiny purple tennis shoes. I hear Anna say, "I like the glitter on your shirt" and I know it's a match made in heaven. I see them decide to go down the wide slide together and, by the smiles on their faces, I can tell that this new friendship is going to last all the way through the rest of our stay at the park.
Anna runs over to me a few minutes later and says, "Mom! I made a new best friend!"
"Great! What's her name?" I ask, curious myself.
"I don't know." I realize this information is unimportant. What is important, however, is a shared love of glitter.
"Well, go ask her." I guess that's the polite thing to do, anyway.
She runs off to play with her new best friend. A few minutes later, when she needs to get her friend's attention, I actually hear Anna call her "New Best Friend." Classy.
With Anna totally content with the nameless girl, I start noticing the other women around me. Some are on cell phones, some are playing tag with their kids (high fives to you), some are talking with other moms, some are dressed to the nines for the park, some are watching from a bench. I'm a bench watcher. (Wait, that sounds like I watch benches. I don't.)
Almost without noticing it, I am comparing the bodies of the women I see. Some are quite frumpy, some are pregnant, some you can see have yet to lose the baby weight from baby number 2 or 3 or 4 or whatever number they're holding while they push older kids on swings, some look like my own brand of frump, and some look quite average—but I'm not judging. I compare, but only to think, "Man alive! The things women go through to bring children into the world—and all these wild children at the park."
My mind turns to the list of crazy things that happen to women's bodies during or post-pregnancy: obviously significant weight gain, hair loss or unusual hair growth, morning sickness, displaced organs and muscles, restricted breathing, heartburn, fatigue like you've never known, insomnia, swelling, rashes from hell, constipation, leg cramps, and sciatic pain/torture. (I actually just searched for some common pregnancy discomforts to jog my memory—Hey, it's been four years, all right?—and one of them was swollen gums. Swollen gums?! See what I'm talking about? Pregnancy leaves no stone unturned.)
I'm overcome that so many women still go through it, again and again, and I look at Anna and of course it was all worth it. Of course it is for everyone, pretty much, but that doesn't mean it isn't something totally full of wonder that is worth revisiting once in a while.
I watch as New Best Friend runs across the wobbly bridge with no fear and Anna basically prances across, still somewhat careful. I watch as they brave the big slides together, again and again and again, with less trepidation each time. She can do it now that she has a new best friend at the park, one with a glittery shirt. The friend she made in about 20 seconds has given her more courage today. She's amazing, and so are the rest of us.
