I have these moments where I see things from Matilda's perspective. All she wants is to explore. She is my Earhart.
So when we took the cousins to this hidden waterfall, and I saw the color of the water, and I decided right away that Matilda could not play, I felt this tremendous burden. I knew the water was safe. Very smart and trustworthy people I know let their kids swim in the water here. It is, in fact, not the color of the water, but rather the deposits in the ground that make it that gross looking color. I knew it was safe, yet I wanted to hold Matilda back, just in case.
She watched the kids get into their suits. She didn't fight or ask to go. But I watched her eyes fill with tears. I could feel that voice inside her shout, "This is not fair." She ran towards me for a hug, and I scooped her up with her suit in my hands.
I had to hold my breath, I had to keep reminding myself she would be fine, I had to let go because I don't want her to think she is less than the other kids. That she is not capable of doing what they do. That she is more fragile. Because teaching her those things, making her feel those things, well that, that would be unfair.
She is my Earhart and I want her to fly.
P.S. I will post the rest of the pictures from this day on Wednesday.
