I kiss you on the top of your head, hoping that it will seep into your brain, becoming more than just a memory of my love for you. The kisses will become a part of you, muscle memory, an actual sensory experience that you feel long after my kisses are gone.
I touch your round belly button with my finger, knowing it is where you were once connected to me, wishing that connection will stay forever. Knowing that my belly held you and the physical evidence on your belly proves it.
I hug you with not just my arms, but muscle and mass encircling you, squeezing you tight as if to physically transfer my love into your body. Sending the warmth of my love to be stored through winters to come.
I protect you with my body - my veins and my flesh, guts, fingernails and bones. I will cover you with my body, as well as my soul, sacrificing both to keep you safe and well. Thinking that someday it will be a metaphor and not my physical presence that protects you. Knowing that sacrifices should be made silently.
I smell your hair and neck to remember what it is like before you learn worry or fear. It smells young and free and hopeful. Before the musk of adolescence and scent of womanhood come to settle in, I will put this sweet smell in my memory.
My hands hold your feet, knowing one day they will walk far away, but squeezing each of them just enough so you know I am there. Remembering when both feet fit in one hand, when newborn feet curled tightly by reflex, before you discovered they could take you places.
I cup your cheek and stroke my thumb on your chin, wanting to tell you that one day you'll need to turn that cheek and you will need to keep that chin up. But then I remember you are still my baby and always will be. I will fight the world for you, my sweet baby, and then with you, giving you the skills to keep fighting.
I squeeze your soft upper arm, your little butt, your leg, like a loaf of bread to make sure this is not a dream. You are real. You are mine. I am your mother and I always will be.
The sea, the sky, the heavens - none are big enough, vast enough to show you this thing called mother-love. When you came to me, a space was created in my heart. It was not an empty space or a hole, but an infinite space where more love and laughter and sand and candy and beauty come to be stored every day. Mother-love is bigger than that. It is a whirlwind that takes on all the bits of your life and builds them into a sculpture in my heart. It changes and twists and grows every day, every minute I breath. Every minute that mother-love shapes me. You shape it. You are my mother-love.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
THE BIGNESS OF MOTHER-LOVE
Last night after reading a few books to bring on the sleep fairies for The Girl, I was laying in bed thinking I needed to put down on paper (or Interweb) some of my ideas for a book. It would be a book just for her. But not for now. The book is for when she is grown, maybe about to marry or have a child of her own. Or it could be a book to help other mothers express the depth of their love, attachment, being. Because you just don't know, can't know that bigness until you experience that unbelievable mother-love feeling that swallows you whole. I didn't have any idea.