A Weekend with Emma: Cherishing Moments Together

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My husband and son took a ski trip this weekend, leaving my 8-year-old daughter Emma and me at home. Emma is still recovering from her mono diagnosis, which means no sports for her for eight weeks. She seems fine, but she tires easily. On Saturday morning, we decided to head over to the park, where I jogged while she rode her bike alongside me. We usually complete two laps, but after just one, she hesitated and asked if we could stop. She was panting and said her legs were tired. I hugged her and agreed it was time to head back. As I loaded her bike into the car, I wondered if it was a mistake to push her like that, given her lingering illness.

Once we were home, we cozied up in my bed to finish reading “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” It’s become a little tradition for us to celebrate each book with a movie night. Emma sat beside me, her eyes sparkling as I read the final chapters. She would occasionally ask questions, showing her engagement with the story. The dim room, lit softly by lamps, felt just perfect, and I cherished these quiet afternoons together.

After finishing the book, I rummaged through the closet to find the movie I had stashed away among some sweaters. Emma’s face lit up with excitement. “Can I watch that now, Mom?” she quickly corrected herself, “Oh, I mean, may I?” I had to chuckle at her formality. “Of course, sweetie.” I set up the old laptop, and she sank back into the pillows, her exhaustion evident. I remembered those early days after her mono diagnosis when she would fall asleep anywhere, like a little baby.

When the movie ended, we decided to treat ourselves to dinner at Christopher’s, one of our favorite spots, just a couple of blocks from home. Emma brought her American Girl doll, Julie, dressed in her finest outfit, and held my hand as we walked. I couldn’t help but think about how these moments of her wanting to hold my hand won’t last forever, and how special it was to enjoy this one-on-one time together.

We settled into a cozy booth and ordered our usual favorites: kid-sized nachos, ginger ale, and pasta with marinara sauce. Lately, Emma has taken to ordering for herself, confidently looking the server in the eye and saying, “Please, may I have.” It fills me with such pride to see her growing up. Our drinks arrived, and Emma leaned forward to sip her ginger ale, her eyes darting around the restaurant, taking it all in. In that moment, I felt a mix of nostalgia and joy, as Emma embodies both my past and my future.

“Mum?” she asked, launching into an elaborate question about Voldemort. I listened intently, trying to answer her as best as I could. Our nachos arrived, and her laughter bubbled over when she picked one up, lifting the entire plate. When our main dishes came, Emma raised her glass of ginger ale, beaming as she clinked her drink against mine. “Cheers! It’s so much fun to have dinner just the two of us, Mum.” I blinked back tears, knowing how precious these moments are. I wanted to say, “Yes, it really is,” but fear of tears stopped me.

As we walked home hand in hand, a thought echoed in my mind: We won’t come back here.

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In summary, spending quality time with Emma after her recovery from mono has deepened our bond and reminded me of the fleeting nature of these moments. As I watch her grow, I am filled with both joy and a touch of sadness, knowing that the days when she wants to hold my hand and share simple joys are limited.