An affinity for water

I like to christen my hair by waiting for just the right one, then diving under a rushing wave, kicking my legs, my arms out straight before me. Then I swim back and forth, with measured movements, just behind the waves, not far from the dolphins if they’re passing playfully by, underwater in front of our little stretch of beach. I keep my eyes closed and feel the changes in the water’s temperature; I like to think of warm patches as dolphin pee but of course it’s thanks to the sun. Late afternoon is the best, swimming into the sunset, alone in the water, Little Girl and Husband laughing in the surf.

I’ll take time for some somersaults, hand-stands. Then I’ll reluctantly turn back to the shore, and remember, and wonder if I can steal a few more moments to myself for body surfing. Then there’s the calculating, watching, throwing myself under, letting the pull overpower me until it’s time to right myself. I’ll stumble up, curious where I’ve ended up, and wave to Little Girl, who always lunges towards me. I’ll take my turn with her as the waves break, sitting in the shallows, lifting her up over the crashing water. Every so often she’ll turn to me, grinning, “This is so fun, Mama!”, then turn back to face the waves again, happy for hours. With her life vest, I’ll take her to sea, too, and she’ll ride my back like a little turtle shell, clinging to me like a little monkey, always pointing to the horizon. “Let’s go that way, Mama! I like the ocean!”