I just returned from a lovely vacation on the shore. It’s funny, I was gearing myself up for some long days covered in sand, dreading the sun-drenched burnt-to-a-crisp feeling…but only because I thought it would be way too much work to beach it with a kid. It was actually very nice.
Granted, my son is chill and doesn’t want to run away from me. And there were numerous family members that didn’t mind having a large baby on their laps…so, all that combined, it was a great beach week.
I will admit, I’ve never been more sandy. The kind of sandy that covers your skin in a fine grit that cannot be removed without a shower…because the sunscreen and sweat is mixed together so well that it provides a nice layer of “glue-like” substance for sand. Yeah. Doesn’t sound all that appealing right? But none of that mattered when I found myself sitting in a beach chair on the edge of the water with my son asleep in my lap. It was seriously the best feeling ever. While the waves lapped over my toes, burying them deeper into the sand, and the wind blowing wisps of hair away from my face…my son’s breath and mine slowly synchronized and I held him tighter- feeling so grateful for his life.
He’s a beach boy, my little Josiah. We stood on the edge of the water together for long periods of time- letting the waves crash into us. Sometimes he laughed, sometimes he stared into the ocean, sometimes he people watched- yep, he’s definitely my son. It was fun watching him discover salt water. He kept putting his fingers back into his mouth and licking them, over and over; trying to figure out what was different about this liquid. And he only ate sand once, thank goodness. It helped that he was in a bucket for the majority of each day- some may call that cruelty, I call it wisdom.