Rain, Rain

It rained yesterday. Just after baby girl and I arrived home in the evening, me tired from a long day of work, her cranky from two more pesky teeth that are slow in making their way in. It wasn't a gloomy rain, the kind of rain that would have fit my mood lately, the kind of rain that makes you want to wrap up in a blanket and eat soup. In fact, it was still sunny outside. Big Texas storm heads towered their way up into the sky, billowing, roiling in the late afternoon heat. And it wasn't the storm rain, the hard, stinging deluge we so often see. The raindrops fell big and fat, glinting in the sun. It was like watching sprinkler drops fall. Soft.

I took baby girl outside for her first rain storm. We sat on our covered back porch and listened to the rain fall on the roof, on the grill, on the grass. She was delighted, overcome with new sounds, with the sight of the shining, glittering, falling rain. She twisted and turned in my lap, not sure of where to look first. She is just on the brink of the next stage of her life, when she'll no longer be content to sit on my lap and watch the world go by. She moves as if to leave me, gets just to the edge of going off on her own, and then, as if sensing the impending distance between us, rushes back to my arms, my chest, my embrace, only to immediately turn around again and ponder her options for freedom. I cherish the time I do have her, on me, with me, needing me.

The wind gusted, and a fine sheen of mist blew in on us. Startled, she closed her eyes to the moisture and took a deep breath. The wind kept blowing, gusting, and with each gust we were sprayed with a wet mist. She took a couple of seconds and opened her eyes, staring into the face of the wind, of the rain, as if to say, "I'm onto you!" And then, her bravery used up, she buried herself into my chest, snuggling in, to turn and face the wind and rain from the comfort of my body. Secure. Warm. Safe. I wrapped my arms around her and we sat and felt the mist, and I thought to myself, "This is my daughter I am holding." So often I think of her as her own little person, as Ali, as baby girl, as our funny little baby who makes us laugh a million times a day. Rarely do I connect that thought to myself. Rarely to I stop and remember she is my daughter. I have a child. And at that moment, my confident, brave, independent child was snuggling into me and staying put, needing her mother, curious about the sound and sight and feel of the rain, but needing me there to make it all bearable.

And then the wind stopped, and with it the wetness on our skin, and she popped back up and looked around, as if trying to spot the fleeing wind and mist. And the moment passed.

As the rain tapered off, we stepped out into the sunshine and felt the remaining fat, gentle, soft rain drops fall on our arms and backs and faces. I held out my hand to show her how to catch the rain, and I had a vision of her holding out her hand as well, a vision of us standing still together in the sun-lit rain and catching rain drops. How perfect.

Only she didn't hold out her hand. Instead, she brought her hand down on mine, clap-clap-clapping it like we had done a million times before. She didn't get my vision. She didn't understand the perfection that would have been had we both just stood there together, feeling the rain. All she saw, all she understood, was the clapping game we had played again and again and again. So she saw my hand, and, ignoring the dripping drops of rain on her arms and back and face, she brought her tiny hand down on mine again and again and turned to look at me with her trademark, open-mouthed grin, delighted.

And that was even more perfect.

Because motherhood isn't about the kind of perfect moments we see in our mind's eye; it isn't about the things we plan for, the things we envision. Motherhood is about the things that are real. The games we play together that are the result of the infinite moments we live together. It's about your child doing not what you think they should do in a perfect moment, but the things that they always do with you, loving you, learning with you, day in and day out.

It rained yesterday. And with that rain brought two unexpected moments of perfection. A moment of stillness, a prolonged snuggle, a need for comfort. And a moment of fun, of habit, of joy at the games played together.

And gratitude. Gratitude fell from the sky, from my heart, from my eyes as well. Gratitude for the moments we have.

And my tears, like the rain, glittered in the sun.