For the past few months the Child has felt nervocited about our impending trip to Guatemala.
A melding of the feelings nervous and excited these mixed emotions have left her unable to fall asleep many nights.
Tell me a story has become her refrain in a way it hasn’t been since she was small.
Late the other night, after I’d told so many tales I felt I had none left to share, I turned to pictures in an attempt to jog my memory.
As I skimmed swiftly through photos on my iPad one caught her attention and she told me to stop.
She squeezed her thumb and forefinger together and spread them apart enlarging the photo as she did.
Where are we and why do you look so serious? She asked.
And the next story of the evening began.
It involved my moving from Texas to live with her in Guatemala and learning only after I’d arrived we’d need to wait weeks for a room to open so we had a place to live.
I reminisced about how, when said room was available, my parents flew down to help with our move.
I shared with her how I cried when they returned to the states.
How it felt exactly like the first time I left home to go to college…except with a baby.
I recalled how the photo (above) was taken on the morning my parents were to depart.
I was nervous (to fly solo as a first time mom somewhere I didn’t speak the language).
I was excited (to have so much solo-time with with my baby to learn about her *and* acquire a new language).
I told her I felt pretty close to the way she’s feeling now:
Tomorrow we are off to revisit old stomping grounds.
And, if all goes as we plan, to replicate the picture above a decade later.
Completely the same—but entirely different.
No fears, no tears.
No nervous, all excited.