The sun is shining more these days and the air coming through our open windows is warmer. We've been spending our afternoons playing outside now that spring is here. Hannah Mae loves to swing. Her face lights up, the wind blowing the hat off her head as she glides back and forth. She laughs as she swings. Today, I put her on my lap and we swung together. I held her close to my chest as she bounced up and down in joy. It was wonderful.
The grass is coming in green around the playground now and I have a memory of dancing with my little boy in the warm spring sunshine. We twirled and laughed together. I inhaled his sweet little boy smell as I held him close to my chest. Dancing is one of our favorite things to do.
But this memory is not a memory, it's only a daydream. A daydream I had two years ago. Two years ago, when I had little hope of having another child. When it was easy to get lost in daydreams and rememberings; daydreams that were full of longing and sadness. In reality, I remember sitting on the cool grass trying to read, but instead getting lost in daydreams of a tow headed toddler who wanted to dance.
Two years later, I dance every chance I get. Hannah lifts up her arms to me and we twirl and bounce and frolic together. When the music starts playing, Hannah grins from ear to ear and begins to bounce. If she could talk, I'm sure she would say, 'Dance, momma! Dance!' And we do.