Bouncing.

I have always liked trampolines.

I know they can be unsafe, I know they can be scary. I've heard the horror stories.

But to me, as a kid? The idea of feeling weightless- like you're flying- was intoxicating. The idea you could just jump and play and maybe be bigger for a moment than all that's around you was enormous. Freeing.

Yesterday, I sat with my legs stretched straight out, you snuggled down in between my knees.

I leaned back and lifted my butt up, tossed my body as high as I could from a sitting position. You laughed before we even came back down that first time. I bounced with you. I bounced, remembering how fun it was for me when I was so young, had thought these types of things impossible.

As we bounced higher, you giggled, and your giggle made me giggle, and we giggled some more- together.

And then we bounced higher, and you got a little scared. You had that nervous laughter, that ha-ha, don't drop me, I'm afraid, ha-ha- laugh. You grabbed on tight to my jeans. You clung to me, and I wrapped my arms around you like I do with the towel after your bath- my little baby burrito. Or baby Dorito- as you call yourself.

But you felt me lean around you, you knew I was there. You glanced up at me, and you told me "I wanna bounce again!" And I smiled. I smiled because I knew that you felt safe in my arms, and you knew I wouldn't let you get hurt. You know how much I care about you, and it just about melts my heart. You didn't want to stand up on your own, even holding my hands, to bounce. No, you wanted me right there, you wanted sitting on my lap, you wanted safety and comfort AND fun at once.

You can grab onto me whenever you feel afraid, little girl. Momma will always be here, will always be ready to steady you, to give you a break from the crazy bouncy rhythm of life when it gets to be too much. You can tell me you're afraid, and I'll always do my best to help. My little cling-buggy, I love you so much.