My husband's two little cousins came to visit yesterday, two adorable girls, the youngest is five. She and I have always had a special bond - I've known her since she was 18 months old. When we're together we're like glue. The day she arrived she begged me to take her swimming, so off we went.
The sun was hot but the water was still icy-cold. She clung to me as we tried to brave the shock of the water. Once we were in and warmed up a bit, I said I wanted to see how she swam. She struggled. Always the teacher I started teaching her to swim (swimming is my favorite sport, when I was younger I used to compete). I held her hands and encouraged her to kick, I showed her how her legs should stay straight and how she should kick from the ankle and not from the knee. We both held on to the side of the pool and tried to make the biggest splashes we could. I showed her how to exhale under water by blowing bubbles out her nose. We played games and when she got tired she clung to me. It was at this moment that I felt the pain. Or more like an emptiness.
I knew everyone at the pool assumed she was my child. And that I was a mother. From the outside we must have looked like any mother and daughter having fun at the pool, but oh how reality is far from this! If only they knew that she is actually my husband's cousin and that I am not a mother but someone desperate-to-be-called 'mummy', desperate to do all those mother-child things, like learning to swim. The burning pain inside my chest grew stronger as this moment, this interaction, this reality brought home the truth of how much I want to be a mother. That this is me. This is so totally who I am. At that moment the longing for a child that I could call my own, consumed me.
While she splashed around, I fought back the tears and regained my composure. I could see her teeth had started chattering and so we got out and warmed up in the midday sun. It was then that I mentioned I had a bowl full of strawberries at home. It is strawberry season in Morocco right now. And with all the rain we've had this year, it's the best strawberry season I can remember. Oh pure delight! Do you have creme chantilly too? She asked wide-eyed. We'll have to whip it up ourselves, but yes. I replied with a smile. We have to go home right now! She commanded. I laughed as she already started picking up our towels and suncream, adamant that strawberries and creme chantilly just could not wait.
After whipping up the cream and arguing over whether any sugar should be added, her elder sister joined us as we lay on the bed, eating our strawberries and cream (one pot with sugar, one without), watching Madagascar 2 on the TV. Yes it was a wonderful treat. As much for me as for them!
We lay there with our strawberry stained mouths and fingers, giggling at the penguins and singing along to the theme tune 'I like to move it, move it...'. My husband's uncle appeared at the door, saw us and laughed 'Les enfants sont bons, non?' Children are good, no? Yes they are. They're amazing.
At this point I know I will go to the ends of the earth to have a child I can call my own. A child to eat strawberries and cream with, to watch silly cartoons with, to teach how to swim. A child to fall hopelessly in love with.
