JOY EXPECTANT

Throughout my day, so often it becomes part of the normal rhythm of motherhood, it’s easy to be prodded by small worries about my young son, Ocean.

“Has he eaten enough? Is he hot or cold? On track developmentally? Sleeping enough? Well-stimulated?”

Many of these worries are vital to his care and are easily remedied or assured. Yet there will always be times I worry in vain. I imagine the worst, only to be surprised by the best.

While we were on a family vacation, my husband, Andy, booked a private sunset boat tour for the two of us. Then, at the last minute, the babysitter who was going to watch Ocean while we went on the boat couldn’t make it. My mind began to whir: would we have to cancel, or could I find another sitter in time? Maybe ask the original sitter if she knew someone?

“Let me ask if we can bring Ocean on the boat with us,” Andy suggested.

The reply came back as yes. Initially, I was relieved. Then, as we drove to the marina with Ocean and his sundry accoutrements I’d packed with care, always afraid of forgetting something, I was beset with a wave of worry.

What if Ocean became panicked by being on the moving boat in the middle of the water? What if he got seasick and puked? What if he got hurt? I imagined telling a frustrated captain, “I’m so sorry, we have to go back,” as Ocean cried and struggled in my arms, inconsolable.

“We won’t know unless we try,” I reasoned to myself. I hoped all would be well, yet secretly, I braced for a negative outcome, reasoning that life with a toddler is unpredictable.

Cinched into his carrier, Ocean rode close to my chest as we walked to the boat. We boarded the vessel and settled into our chairs. The engine purred to life and we were off. Since Ocean was facing outwards, it was hard for me to see his face.

“He’s taking it all in,” Andy informed me. “He looks a little concerned. It’s his serious look.”

I rubbed a reassuring hand on Ocean’s chest. I knew that look well: when presented with something new, Ocean takes his time to observe with a slightly furrowed brow, studying the situation carefully before letting other emotions show on his small face.

After about ten minutes, I took Ocean out of the carrier yet kept him on my lap. When he showed interest in moving around, I sat him gingerly on the deck. My eyes stayed fastened on him; did he look sick or scared? Would he stand up only to get knocked about by the motion of the boat? It was his dinner time; tentatively, I fed him. As he ate with enthusiasm, the expression of concern melted off his face. He crawled around the deck. Then, he walked, gripping the railing and toddling between the sides and our chairs. He bloomed.

The rest of the boat ride was sweet magic. Ocean chirped and chortled with delight as he looked over the sides at the water, the birds, and the sunset. His eyes danced with wonder. He walked with greater and greater confidence between Andy and I, checking on us and pointing as if to say, “Are you seeing all this? Isn’t it great?”

Even so, it wasn’t until Andy began taking photos of us against the sunset that I felt the full merit of Ocean’s joy. Holding a wiggling Ocean in my arms, I leaned him back, tickling him and goofing around. He shrieked with laughter. It was a laughter greater than my actions – one which spoke of the depth of his happiness in that moment. All that time, I had worried about how Ocean would react in a new environment. When presented with it, he hadn’t simply been okay; he’d thrived. He had embraced the rockiness of the boat and gained his footing with confidence. He loved the new sights and sounds. It was as though the challenge put him into his element and let him shine. Holding him as we both laughed, I looked into his blue eyes which gleamed with trust, certainly, and joy. My baby was happy. Ocean reached up and playfully grabbed the bill of my cap. In a moment of surprising affection, even for him, he leaned forward and graced my cheek with a messy and endearing open-mouthed kiss. I threw a smile at Andy, who grinned at us from behind his camera. He captured the most beautiful photos of that moment: Ocean laughing with glee in my arms.

I will treasure those photos always. The happiness is clear and pure. It radiates to me and to Andy, the loving photographer. When I look at them in the future, I want to remind myself of this: expect joy. In all my worries and preparations for how the day would go, I hadn’t expected such a full measure of joy, and this was a disservice. I had looked forward to the outing … and then let myself be cautious of expecting too much.

I like to think I’m an optimistic person, yet something about motherhood has me preparing for disappointment more than previously. Maybe it’s because if things go wrong, I’m the one who must provide comfort and soothing. Maybe it’s because I’ll feel guilty if I expect too much, and my baby is let down.

When the sun sank below the horizon, we began to make our way leisurely back to the dock. Ocean settled in Andy’s arms and then mine, the three of us taking in the picturesque scenes of pelicans flying against the orange sky, the delicate sliver of silver moon appearing, and the lights on the boats and docks turning to beacons in the night. Andy and I leaned against each other and murmured how happy we were that we’d taken Ocean with us on the tour. Experiencing life through his eyes is the best gift.

How beautiful to be surprised by happiness. How beautiful to remember: expect joy. Disappointment will surely come, yet how much better to be optimistic, expectant of a great good. A great happiness. Though I worry, may I also be hopeful. May I be ready with comfort, and with laughter. May we all expect a little more joy.

SELF STORAGE

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