It was 4pm and it felt like we hadn’t done a thing all day. Charlie took a half hour long afternoon nap, then an extra half hour nap in my arms after that, and another half hour after that when I finally set him back down in his crib, shaking out the pins and needles in my arms. I banged around the house, halfheartedly trying to wake him up, peering out at the clouds trying to determine the likelihood of rain.
The sky had looked threatening all day, and I remembered the humid wind barreling toward us on our morning, post-church run that morning. A storm was coming. The urge to cozy up together on the couch was strong, but I also had the urge to see the waves. It had been a couple weeks, and we were due.
I finally heard a whimper during my overly enthusiastic search for beach towels in the closet right next to his room. On went his trunks, swim shirt, and into the car seat he went. The intracoastal was dark and choppy as we crossed the bridge to our little local beach, making us think that we may be too close to the storm to stay.
The waves were rough but not too big. A yellow flag waved, warning about riptides. As we got to the water the sand pitched down to the water in a steep dip making a little ledge to walk down to the ocean edge. We set our chairs up on the packed sand below the ledge and left our bag on a chair. The wind whipped around us, bending the palm trees on the boardwalk. I felt my hair turning into a birds nest. Charlie’s hat kept blowing off so I finally tucked it in our bag. We wouldn’t be out long.
Charlie stared out at the waves, unsmiling. Did he like it? Was it scary? Was the water too cold? Every time we come to the beach, he’s just a little bit bigger, a little bit older. What if he doesn’t like it this time? We let him stand in the sand and the waves came in covering him to his knees. Mike grabbed a handful of seaweed for him to feel. He grabbed a handful of sand and tried to bring it to his mouth, Mike stopping him just in time. I crouched down to rinse his hands with seawater, laughing as my shorts got soaked by a wave. We’re pretty sure he still likes it.
We didn’t stay long. Just long enough to call it an adventure. We’ll be back again next week. The storm came later that night, rattling the windows and bringing down palm fronds, tiny unripe mangos and bougainvillea blooms all over the neighborhood. I’m glad it held off for our afternoon. The slow end to a weekend that went by far too fast.