It was a lot of sand and dust. Underfoot. That's how I knew things were different. I wasn't that far from home, but we could just linger in the sand and dust, and walk down to the ocean to hold dead crabs and wet feathers. I felt so connected to my daughter. Staying in her schedule is such a gift, something I deeply envy in moms who don't work full-time. We explored together and drifted like sea foam together throughout our week. She slept in the afternoons with abandon, and after her little fingers loosened from mine into relaxation, I always took the time to look at her closed eyes and gorgeous face as if I were smelling a dark pink spilling rose, petals falling to the breeze.

We played. Played with her grandparents, played with toys and things we found, played with our toes. I can't count on two hands the number of times I ate those little toes. Took the time to tickle her. Took the time to notice how wound up I am a lot of the time. Found myself unwound.

I know it takes a lot of work and attention to stay with your daughter, to stay awake in her wake. Every day that I'm with her, I wonder if I can do it when she is 19, 26, 34, 49. I really, really, really hope I can. For now, she's 2.  And August is closing, which is almost impossible to believe. So here are my vows to try to stay connected to her and to my being unwound, so being wound doesn't become a wound:

I vow to do a lot of yoga.
I vow to take at least a day off with just her every other month to just experience treasuring her.
I vow to do things with my time away from her that are meaningful and powerful.
I vow to honor her schedule whenever I have the chance.
I vow to breathe and drink water and teach her to do the same.
I vow to experience gratitude for my current place in her life: wildly loved.

She's given me so many kisses these past couple of weeks. I've been so glad to give her kisses back. What a pure delight.