Asleep in My Crib 50+ Years Ago
On Friday morning, at the end of pilates class, our teacher dimmed the lights, turned the music down soft, and told us to lie down on our sides on our mats.
Lying there, I was transported back to Rochester, New York in 1971, lying asleep with my blankie in my crib, mom and dad looking down at me, their newborn daughter, with so much love. It was such a delicious, miraculous feeling. A feeling I don’t remember ever feeling. Though I certainly did.
It made me think of the gift of being a child of a loving parent. The gift we loving parents give our children.
No parent can provide a child with everything he or she needs. And almost all children will remind their parents of that fact as adolescents and/or teenagers and/or when they are adults and parents themselves (i.e., I will provide MY child with those things that MY parent didn’t give me, thereby depriving me and causing me to suffer in this way or that way etc. etc)
But in that pilates class I experienced the honey-sweet essence of being the child of a loving parent. With all of our imperfections, theirs and mine. Which sits at the core of all the blessings in my life then, now, and always.