When I was a little chick and a regular park goer with my darling Dad, I can remember him telling me that one day I would be big enough to push myself on the swing. How would THAT work? I can remember thinking. Swinging, as far as I was concerned, involved a defatigable adult pushing me. 'It's all in your legs,' Dad would tell me, 'stretch them out on the way up.' I was positively bewildered. Why anyone would want want to push themselves on a swing was absolutely beyond me. Independence was never my strong point.
I remembered this today, watching my little girls at the park. Miss 7 - her mane of curls flying -calling, 'Mum, look at me, I'm pushing myself!' And so she was. Higher and higher and higher without a grown up in reach.
As I cheered her on I thought of my health. And I realised that at the ripe old age of 44, I feel like now I'm starting to push myself too. Out and back. Out and back. Up and up.
As always, my Dad was right.
Love,
Indigo Kate x
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