As always, if you'd like to use this space to tell stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...
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What is so hard for me is separating the ACT OF LOVE which brought the child, first to my womb, then to my arms. People often "freak out" when I tell them that labor, for me, was the opposite of making love. Same force, same irrisistible urge, same relief - in the reverse. From there it is not so unnatural for me to want to taste her skin- she was made from the act of love which was us and so, yes, there is such a fine line which can be easily misconstrued...
I read recently, also, that fear breeds love...it binds us to that which we hold in awe. For me, that applies here, since I am bound to my child by the fear of what I do not know, the awe of visible evidence of the original act of our love...
Kissing her lips and having her gooey lips attempt to kiss me back reminded me where it all started. Holding her to my breast caused a shudder of elation, putting her down brought a flood of pain. I find it interesting that some parents don't share this same primal love... When I say that I have a physiological NEED to be with my children, I get looks. I need to touch them, even if it is (as it often is with the older ones) to brush them away in the busyness of the moment, I need that touch, they need that touch.
I also read somewhere that perhaps rapists as a group were subjected to inordinate lack of touch. I don't remember where I read it, it has been so long (and bearing six children pushed my memory to the farthest limit).
My favorite thing right now is to run my nose along their little cheekbones and ears and smell the scent of baby hair and kiss the backs of their necks. My husband doesn't seem to notice-- he gets plenty from me! Besides, I think he knows I find my children addicting. I am addicted to holding them, being one with them like I was when they were part of ME. I don't find it easy to let go...
3 comments:
I think that this really captures what's thrilling and discomfiting about this love - it's related to a love that we already know, but also totally different. It's physical, but not sexual. It's profound, but not romantic.
It's wonderful.
I always got a strange reaction when I said that, for me, getting my milk to let down while pumping was like having an orgasm - you gots to be relaxed, and not only thinking about getting to the prize.
what? what?
stubborn boobs.
Her bad mother said what I was thinking.
The expression of "eating them up" is so true... we are drawn to our darling children... we can't get close enough. It hurts to be away from them.
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