She jumps in puddles, pigtails flying, knees bent, smile a mile wide.
“Mommy, jump with me!”, she says. And I oblige. I jump along with her, conscious that I may look silly seeing as I am a grown adult for whom puddle-jumping does not tend to hold the same excitement that it does for the younger set.
But I do it, and throw self-consciousness to the wind.
We hold hands and make a run for the next puddle. Splash! The rain can’t stop my girl from giggling oh so sweetly. “Mommy that was a big puddle!”
I watch her and marvel.
She is her own superhero, her own persona, with her initial emblazoned in an imaginary fashion on her chest. She is sugar and spice with a healthy dose of recklessness thrown in for good measure.
“Mommy, look! More puddles!”
We jump and our boots bear the brunt of our energy.
I do not want this time to end, this precious time with my beautiful girl. Because someday, she won’t want to jump in puddles. Someday she will be a teenager looking disdainfully at my retelling of our puddle-jumping days. “Mommy” will become “Mom”, and she will bypass the puddles for fear of getting wet.
I know that someday she will look fondly back at our times of splashes and giggles. And she will smile.
But now… now we will find more puddles to jump in.
Because right now, we have all the time in the world.