I stretched out in bed and opened my laptop. Just returning from my daughter Lauren's college graduation, I began my ritual of sorting through the hundreds of pictures I took during graduation weekend. Looking at the pictures of her, so strong, beautiful and confident, I smiled to myself. Of course, I was proud of her, but at this moment, I was proud of myself. For a single mom, who raised my daughter without any meaningful assistance from her father, this moment was mine.
It wasn't always easy. After all, I was only 19 when I gave birth to her. As a 33 year old woman, it was hard to explain to a then-14 year old girl why her mother was turning her world upside down and demanding a divorce simply because she didn't want her little girl to grow up thinking that she had to "dumb down" to preserve the fragile ego of a guy whose greatest accomplishment was simply being lucky enough to be born into a wealthy family. My ex couldn't stand that I was the one who was "self-made," a girl who worked her way through college and then built her own successful company, all while raising a daughter of her own. He wanted a wife who did little more than look forward to her next tennis lesson or lunch plans, not one who out-thought, out-worked, and out-performed men and built a company of her own. The work and sacrifice was worth it. During her teen years, my daughter blossomed from a scared young girl into a confident woman.
As I sorted through folders of older pictures, I found snapshots covering her journey into womanhood - from middle school recitals, varsity volleyball games, and prom dates to silly selfies and cheesy poses from our annual vacations. As I clicked from photo to photo, I saw how bright and truly beautiful she had become. Then I slid the cursor over and clicked on the folder labeled only "Cabo 2011." As I stared at photos of her, her dark tan gorgeous against her white string bikini, I thought about that trip when I first discovered that my little girl had grown into a beautiful, sensual woman.
"Cabo 2011" was a folder of our annual Christmas trip that year. Every year, when other people were crowding malls, fighting their way to the post office and, generally, getting stressed and pissed off about the holiday, Lauren and I looked forward to a chance to unplug and get away from our demanding lives. Prior Christmas trips took us surfing in the Australian summer, on safari in South Africa and, even, to a Swedish hotel made entirely of ice. That year, we decided to escape the Seattle winter for 2 weeks in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It was the perfect destination - white sand beaches, sun, and surf. Our days were filled with adventure, surfing, cliff diving, deep sea fishing, and exploring the local crafts and shops. Our nights were filled with music, dancing and partying in the clubs. For Lauren, this trip had extra meaning. After all, it was her first trip after turning 18, which meant that she was free to drink in Mexico.
After several days of high energy surfing and fishing during the day and hardcore partying at night, we decided that that we needed a day or two to dial it back and relax. In perfect, fluent Spanish, we asked the locals working in the resort where we could go to get away from it all. On their advice, we rented a pair of ATVs and packed our backpacks with water, food and some other supplies and headed off to Playa San Pedro. We rode past the bars and clubs of Cabo San Lucas into the small towns along the way, and then past farms of huge blue agave used to make the finest tequilas in the world. On the way, we bought a couple of bottles of the clearest, freshest, most delicious homemade tequila we had ever tasted.
After a short while we found the small sign for Playa San Pedro and traveled a dirt road that ended at the dunes of the most beautiful beach I had ever seen. Fine white sand, which felt like powdered sugar under our toes, led to the deep blue surf. We set down our backpacks and looked around - it was paradise and it was all ours. There wasn't another soul for miles. After making our simple camp, I kicked off my flip flops and pulled my t-shirt over my head and unhooked my bra. I peeled over my shorts and panties and packed my clothes in a neat pile. It felt so good to be naked in the warm Mexican sun. I looked over to Lauren, but she was already gone. Her clothes were strewn across the dunes and she was running butt-naked into the ocean. I laughed. I folded and packed her clothes and walked down to the water to join her.
The next few hours were blissful. We laughed and swam, body surfing along the waves. When we got tired, we lay down at the edge of the water, the sun warming our nude bodies and the gentle waves running over us, cooling our skin. For lunch, we ate some of the fresh fruit that we had taken from our resort and washed it down with coconut water that we drank from the coconuts we had collected along our trip. As the sun began to set, we grabbed our snorkel masks, diving spears and net, and dove into the waves to catch our dinner. That night, we dined on the fish we had caught wrapped in tortillas we bought in one of the small villages on our trip. We drank our tequila straight from the bottle until the bottle was empty.
Full and feeling a bit tipsy, we stretched out a couple of soft Mexican cotton blankets and made our bed right there in the sand dunes. The sky had turned dark and, far from any cities or towns, the stars shone brightly. The temperature had begun to drop and we cuddled close under the blanket, our bodies keeping each other warm. It was never a big deal for either of us to be naked together. One of the benefits of living in an all-female house had been that we never felt the need to cover up when we were alone. Nudity was natural and part of our lives. Holding her, I felt myself doze off.
