As I look after George, I can't help but be overcome with envy. He runs with total abandon, yelling after me to chase him. I take a deep breath and run as fast as I can, but I am unable to reach him. The world weighs me down.
He is weightless. I am heavy with thoughts, worries, desire. He is flying through the air, blissfully unaware. All he knows is that he has to go to class in ten minutes, but gosh darn it he doesn't want to, and how dare I insist he do so. He lets me know that I'm the "worst babysitter" and the "meanest person ever!"
He kicks and screams and cries when I put my foot down, dragging him through the public playroom. People look on and sigh, judging me for being a bad caretaker. I'm exhausted and worn out. I pause and think I want to kick and scream and cry too. I'm not allowed to though, because that's not what adults do. But what if I'm feeling tired? Or cranky? Or just don't want to do something? I dream of throwing my body down on the floor next to George, screaming into the void all my deepest feelings and darkest fears. To empty myself fully and completely.
Ten minutes later, it is like none of this has ever happened. He runs into the arms of his loving mother, and the world washes away. It's just him and her. They are whole. I fade into the background, longing for my own safety net. Nowhere feels safe anymore.
Flashforward five days. George and I are jumping on the bed, laughing so hard it hurts. He tells me the same knock-knock joke twenty-five times, and although I know it by heart at this point, the way in which he delivers it each time still makes me giggle. "Knock Knock." "Who's there?" "Can you?" "Can you who?" "Can you HEAR ME??!"
It doesn't make any sense, but it doesn't have to. I don't have any thoughts racing through my head, a rare moment of silence. For once, I am totally present, devoid of fear and anxiety.
I look at George. He looks at me. We share one last laugh, him passing out right beside me a minute later. I take in his placid dreaming face, wondering what I look like when asleep. I turn off the lights and head to the living room to finish my work.
But before I do so, I do a backwards tumble on the floor. It hurts a little more than expected, but nothing terrible. The blood rushes to the back of my head. I feel like I could do ten more. Twenty, even.
Maybe I will.
