She wears my old swimsuit, a blue one-piece with Snoopy, Woodstock, and rainbows printed all over it. 80’s chic.

The pool is hot-tub warm. A benediction. Worth walking through the rain for.

I chat with another mom and admire her three-month-old. The kid connection. Nothing has made me more friends than parenthood.

Dahlia loves the water. She grips the longest strands of my newly-cut hair as we glide around the pool.

A sprinkling of elderly ladies are delighted to see her. She smiles back.

When I sit her on the shallowest step, the water is above her chest. Almost 10 months old and still so small.

She cracks up when I kiss her chin; she takes the opportunity to bite my nose.

When we come back home I nurse her, put her down for a nap, munch some trail mix, finish reading my book, and watch the rain.

My own mom kept everything, even all my threadbare swimsuits. I wish I could pack this memory up in a box to open years, or even decades, from now.

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