The second installment of The Bambina series. Read to find out the secrets hidden in Danielle's journal, and how the couple, Sophia and Raphaelle, navigates their new Normal.
We're back home. Sophia's eyes are heavy. She needs a nap. But I guess a little playtime first won't hurt her. If my baby wants to jump on the trampoline she'll get to jump on the trampoline. But damn the trampoline if she hurts herself. Ain't no way I'mma forgive the trampoline for that. I can't blame her. Not when I've told her to wear the freaking anti-slip socks. If she hurts herself then... it's the damn trampoline's fault.
Sophia, with her tiny, determined face, toddles over to the trampoline. I smile. How can one be so freaking beautiful? So sweet. So innocent, yet so broken inside? She's the most delicate confusing piece of puzzle I've ever had to try and puzzle out. And she's mine.
"Remember the socks," I say, following behind her.
She giggles in response, her excitement palpable, her laughter ringing in the crisp air.
Damn, Sophia... if you don't put those socks on... I'll have that thing gone by tomorrow.
I watch as she reaches for the socks just inside the door, puts them on and climbs up, starting to bounce. I can't help but smile.
"Come join me, daddy!"
Her joy is infectious, and just to please her, I join her. Bouncing, making her giggle, feeling very silly in the moment. Then I decide that, that is it.
"Ten minutes, baby. Then you're having a nap."
She pouts, "but, daddy!" she whines.
I chuckle at her antics. She's definitely in little space right now. I stand on the grass, watching her with a careful eye.
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"Daddy look at me!" She squeals, her voice pulls me back to the present. She's bouncing higher now, her arms flailing with each jump.
"I see you, bambina," I reply, my heart clenching with a mix of pride and fear. "Be careful!"
God... if she hurts herself... no fucking more trampolines... ever.
She laughs again, and I remind myself to relax. She's just a little girl; she deserves these moments of pure, unadulterated joy. She deserves to have her childhood. She never really had any childhood. And I'm doing my best to help her know what it feels like. Still, I can't shake off the worry. She becomes so vulnerable when little. She's so prone to tears. And I fucking hate those tears. I don't ever wish to see them upon her face. I'd rather take them away, for good. The world feels so fragile sometimes, like the thin layer of soot that gathers on the window-panes, easily disturbed by the slightest touch. She is fragile. Very fragile. And I'm so over watching her break, piece by piece, because cruel people refuse to be careful with her.
Perhaps she has a point. That moving out of the city will be good for her. Less people, meaning less threats. More freedom. For her. For us. Less worry for me. Less pain for her. It's a win-win situation, honestly.
