How do you explain how much you physically love your child? This is my fourth draft of this post, trying to get the words just right.
Her Bad Mother, after writing her own post on that subject, invited her readers to try to answer that question themselves. She has collected over three dozen posts written by Mothers who are trying to put into words how they feel when they hold their child, why they feel an overwhelming need to kiss and touch their babies until it borders on addiction.
Last Friday, I took Kaitlyn and the boys to see “Cars” along with some friends. Kaitlyn alternated between my lap, the stroller and the carpeted floor in front of our seats. She ate Banana Puffs and tried to chew a straw. About 3/4 of the way through the movie, it was naptime, and she began to whine.
What veered me off track in my original post was remembering those horrible days in the hospital after her birth, when I was so sick from the stomach flu that I couldn’t even hold her. And then we learned that she did not need to be rocked to sleep, or even held while she slept, that she wanted to just lay down and be left to drift off herself. Only very occasionally would she fall asleep in my arms while drinking her bottle.
That day in the movie theater, I figured I would keep her calm and quiet until the show ended, and then she would sleep in the car on the way home. I picked her up and carried her over to the side of the theater, down the ramp leading to the exit, and stood there in the dark holding her up on my shoulder. I watched the movie and rocked back and forth.
I felt her head drop on my shoulder, but I figured she was just resting it there. And then I felt her breathing slow down, and I held my breath too. Cautiously, I lowered my face until it rested between her jaw and shoulder, and breathed her in. I kissed the soft swell of her cheek and the corner of her mouth. I whispered shhhhh.
And then suddenly she was asleep. Her body went limp and was somehow both weightless and heavy in my arms at the same time. I lowered my head even farther, resting it gently on her shoulder, and listened to her breathe. For that moment, every thing else went away. I couldn’t hear the movie or see the screen. It was just me and her and nothing else, because she was giving me a precious gift.
She wanted me. She needed to sleep, and she trusted me to help her. A baby who only wanted to be put in bed awake and allowed to put herself to sleep was letting me hold her as she slept. It might have only been 15 or 20 minutes, but it was wonderful.
One day, she will be too big to carry, and I’ll miss her little arms around my neck, one hand patting the back of my shoulder, the other hand slowly scratching my shirt. I’ll miss rubbing her back, slipping my hand under her shirt to feel her warm, soft skin. I’ll miss those rare times when she falls asleep drinking her bottle, and I get to spend a few minutes running my fingers over her little hands, stroking her velvet-soft cheeks and gently kissing her forehead and the corners of her mouth.
The love I feel for my baby encompasses the physical, the emotional, the psychological. I couldn’t not kiss and touch her. She is me, and I am her, and as long as she wants me, I will be available to her. I will kiss her on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead. I will bury my face in her neck and whisper shhhhh. I will love her, physically and otherwise, forever.
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mmmm…i can almost smell her.
thankyou elizabeth, for reminding me that the grass is always greener. i cannot tell you how much i would give for my son to even ATTEMPT to put himself to sleep, but on the other hand………when your breathing is in sync, and nothing but the smell of their head is in your nostrils…well it doesn’t get any better than that.
Beautiful! I just love these moments! My daughter did not like to be held when she was a baby (or even now I guess), she doesn’t like to be touched at all, so when she gives me one of these moments, I love it. Love does not even describe it though. You seem to have summed it up perfectly!
You know, Em was never a snuggle bug kid – until she was sick or very sleepy. Then I relished those times she just let me HOLD her.
But that smell? That sleepy baby smell? It is imprinted into my brain, deep down.
Beautifully written Elizabeth.
Yes, the smell of them, and the weight of them. It is a gift. Beautifully said.
Aww. That’s so sweet!
What a beautiful post. I loved your description of holding your daughter as she slept. A nice gift, indeed.
When my son was born, he was 3 months early and weighed only 2 lbs., 11 oz. (Not as big a deal today as it was almost 36 years ago … stop doing the math I was barely out of high school when he was born!).
He was in the NICU for 3 months. It was touch and go for 3 months. I was in intensive care for the first couple of weeks and then I finally got to see him for the first time.
I didn’t get to hold him, really hold him, until the day I brought him home from the hospital, weighing the required 5 lbs (and 5 oz.).
We were foreign to each other. Even though I was at the hospital every day after my discharge, I wasn’t allowed to hold him until the day they took him out of the incubator, handed him to me, and walked away … leaving me to my own, ill-prepared devices.
The first few days he never left arms. I slept with him, I ate with him, I went to the bathroom with him always with me. I had three months of bonding to make up for … and I was too afraid to let him out of my sight and touch.
Your post reminded me of that moment in my life when I realized he really was mine. The first time he fell asleep on my chest and we were breathing in sync. I felt all the fear leave both our bodies and settle into a rhythm that made everything else disappear.
You made me cry. I can’t wait for this for myself.
I know what you mean about not being able to stop yourself from holding her and kissing her. It’s almost involuntary.