Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am overly anxious. I worry too much. I fret. I obsess. I indulge endless neuroses. Every once in awhile, though, I experience an epiphany of sorts–a moment of pure, bright joy–that reminds me of how little in life is actually worth all the damn blood, sweat, and tears. This morning was one of those moments.
After a rough night (Ava wet the bed at midnight) and an early wake-up, Mark was pretty grumpy, which made me feel pretty much the same. He huffed out of bed to the shower, while I burrowed under the blankets with Ava. All of a sudden, out of the blue, Ava said, “I want to take a shower with you, Mom.” Now this wouldn’t be so unexpected if Ava were the kind of kid who liked showers. However, she’s always been a bath girl and is fairly ambivalent about getting a faceful of spray. But when I told her she could go get in the shower, right now, with her dad, she leaped off the bed and raced to the bathroom, stripping out of her clothes and clambering over the side of the tub.
I went into the bathroom, too, and puttered about, listening to them goofing around. Mark was telling Ava how fun it is to sing in the shower, and the two of them them burst into a rousing rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” which Ava then insisted on singing again by herself. I stood there, listening to the sound of her voice, and laughed out loud, because I was filled with the kind of happiness that floods your body in an instant. I knew what the world was trying to tell me: This is what matters, Leah. Not the laundry or the shopping or the ridiculous to-do lists hanging over your head. This is everything. It’s nothing–and everything. A rush of water. A tiny voice. A family together in a steamy bathroom, safe and healthy.
Thank you, Rudolph. And don’t forget to dry your antlers.