Joy Quakes

Last weekend I ran out to the car when the kids pulled up to give them something and opened the back passenger door to say hi to the baby. He was in a bit of a daze then broke into a smile, more than a smile . . .

It was a joy quake.

Like a muscle strain, his whole body quivered, with excitement at my face.

Now, if you lived inside my head—well, you’d move out. It isn’t always pretty with the self-deprecating self-talk. I’ve given up on makeup and expressing any sense of style because—why? No one seems to notice. For years I’ve been invisible. It’s why my job as a retail clerk where now part of my salary is commissions has been so terribly difficult. It’s not a problem for me to greet people. I love to welcome, but it takes a special person to move onto selling someone on something. Luckily, I’ve ended up with the grandmas. More on that later. 

Anyway, to be seen by someone who so obviously loves me fills my heart and life. So when I went over to my daughter’s house for my one day of babysitting (I wish it could be more) he turned toward me with . . . you guessed it—a joy quake and then dropped to all fours to clamber over. Such a greeting!

At the same time I’m afraid. For when he grows up and takes on shades of cynicism and snark, it will hurt so bad to slip back into obscurity, to no longer be the person who rocks his world.