Summer

This is the first year in a long time I feel like I’ve been able to appreciate summer. For the last two out of three summers, I was pregnant, sweltering my massive way through high-banded maternity pants and seeking air conditioning whenever possible. For the last say ten years before that, I was in the clinic or hospital. I don’t really remember summer. I sort of remember it being hot as I walked to my car.

This year, we’ve gone to the beach and the community pool. E adores water and would stay in there forever if I let her. I’ve visited friends. Made popsicles. Got a tan. Worn lots of summer dresses. Chopped my hair short. Enjoyed my regular clothes (strangely I am cumulatively losing weight with each pregnancy, though I chalk it up to being too busy with childcare to have a significant interest in food). Barbecued. Gone on walks. Ate lots of watermelon. Picked blueberries and strawberries.

This is also the first year we have a garden. While the children napped today I picked a bunch of cherry tomatoes. I typically don’t like tomatoes, but these aren’t tomatoes—they melt in your mouth, taste like candy, and are still warm from the sun. I mixed them with fresh sage, mozzarella, aged balsamic, olive oil, fresh cracked pepper and salt. I ate it, alone in the quiet, and could only think, thank you, God, for summer.

Thank you God, too, for having a summer this year. A breather, a time we’re not moving or working all hours or expecting a baby. A time just to be, the four of us, and me alone, with sun-kissed vegetables and the bright day outside.