PYHO: She wants to be like me

On Sunday we went to the pool. It was the first time we'd been in weeks. More than a month, in fact. Ailments, illnesses, family visiting. All these things kept us away.

Swimming is a beautiful time for my family. It's the one hour a week that the three of us spend time together with no distractions. I can't even begin to explain how important it is to have the phone tucked away, the iPad home and hiding, no laptops, no television, no connection to anyone in the outside world.

Can you tell that I love it?

We have a pattern going now. The three of us swim together, a good half hour or more. Usually more. I get a few minutes in the hot tub if I want to. Or I can swim a few laps solo, while my husband plays with my daughter for a bit. When done I go get my stuff and head to change. Sometimes a shower fits in, sometimes not, but I get a few minutes to myself to decompress.

On Sunday I walked along, ready to go. I looked at myself in the mirror of the locker room. My thighs, their dimples. It wasn't pretty. Dimples belong on faces, don't they?

I looked at my face. Thirty-eight years behind these eyes. I've aged. I've grown. I've got some wise ways. Seen a lot. I'm still a kid in so many ways. But wait. I have one of my own.

I continued dressing and made my way back to the pool to get my daughter.

Her two-piece tank suit so much smaller than my own. Her body so lean, so taut. She was happy. Thrilled. In her naked glory as I helped her dry off and change into her clothes.

"Don't run out behind the curtain!" She asked me why. Why, I thought. Why? "So everyone out there won't see your booty!" I laughed. She did, too. Unblemished skin and all. She shook her booty at me.

We finished getting her dressed and went to sit down at the mirror to dry her hair. My own hair needed it, as well. She could barely stand still. She would barely stand still.

"Honey, please. Please let mommy dry your hair."

She stopped. Walked over. Stood still. When I finished she decided.

"Mommy. I want crazy hair just like yours." I laughed.

"You do?" She nodded.

Crazy hair is when I pull my hair up into a bun and it just sort of flops everywhere.

"Are you sure?" She nodded again. "Sit down, OK? Mommy will finish your hair."

She sat in front of me, sneaking peeks in the mirror beside us to check that I was actually doing it. A little tiny and crazy messy bun atop her head. We walked out of there hand in hand. Or maybe it just felt like way. She was a few steps ahead, I'm sure. Running. Carefully. Her little bun bouncing as she went.

She wants to be like me.

There is so much more I need to be. But she? My daughter? She wants to be like me.

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