I'm at The Split about to slip into the seraphinite waters. The water is calm, nearly still here, and could fool you for freshwater if you didn't pay attention. There are crabs on the bottom and fish flitting here and there away from the boats and the snorkels. I stop partway in and feel the baby move in my calm waters. I stop and put a hand on my belly to feel it better, whatever it is. Rob has just felt it too for the first time here in Belize where days are slow and sidewalks long. I'm happy for this reality, and the confirmation of the baby's growth.
I swim around for a while. There is a concrete slab that divides The Split and I linger near it watching for fish. I hop up on the side and sit watching a group of kids playing after school. They try to sell me popcorn but I decline. They try everyone else, sell what they can, and then take their time getting home, taking dips in the water instead.
I love to watch kids being normal and challenging each other. There's a friendly confidence, a slow-paced, easy jovial nature to the people who work in the tourist industry and I wonder how that trickles down to children and if it is real. From what I can tell it is. These children aren't sneaking to have their fun. They've worked a bit and its hot and now they swim. Later they'll come home when they come home.
A group of girls is doing the giggily things girls do and I've hopped down off the concrete. At six months into this pregnancy, I'm too hot to cook this baby any more in the sun. I try to be invisible around them so I can see how they play and enjoy their free time. I'm watching one girl who is holding onto to the side of the concrete slab and then suddenly isn't. And she isn't swimming either. She is trying, but flailing. I rush to her and pull her up. Water spews from her nose and her smiling mouth as she slops her hair back and says "thank you," then goes right back to teaching herself to swim.