I lay quietly in the dark, half-lidded and warm. The small form beside me breathed evenly in a snoggy and wet sort of way through his mouth. O wasn’t asleep yet but drifting in that land looking for a place to settle down. I had forgotten to remove my Blackberry before the goodnight story and it buzzed mercilessly on my hip – twice. His breathing changed and I softly said:
“that was my blackberry…”
“somebody is phoning you ?” he said with 5 years of query built right in.
“No, its an email”
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“No, I’m much too comfortable snuggling with you”
“Please stay with me for a minute before you go”
“Of course, O. I always do”
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I wondered then about the amount of actual holding we do with our kids. We touch them, hold them, kiss them a lot. Sometimes they like it and want to curled up in our laps, and other times twist away and wipe off kisses. That’s OK, I did that with my own mum until I was in my mid-teens and she stopped kisses (they came back and I started giving them after I grew up and moved away).
I thought tonight that I want O and F to remember being held when they’ve grown enough to not want that anymore, when they are adults. I want them to remember the love and warmth and protection and comfort of being encircled in arms and rocked and kissed. I suppose when they don’t want that anymore for keeps I shall have to wait until they are fully grown before they’ll allow me to do even half of that again. But for the time being, I can still hold them and feel them hug me back when I leave for an errand, say goodnight, whatever.
An interesting thing here is that I have no memory myself of being hugged or comforted as a child. I do have an odd memory for this kind of thing and its entirely likely that I was hugged as a child and don’t recall it. But its equally likely that it just didn’t happen. That would probably go for my sisters as well. And it is with this very much forefront in mind that we make conscious efforts to be physically in touch with our children. Touch is a fundemental human need and sooooo much can be communicated through touch that simply cannot be delivered or received any other way. We all know this. You know this, who read here. My wife loves me I know by the way she touches the back of my sore neck at the end of the day. I love her by the grip round her as I lift her off the floor for a ‘back-crick’. And we do so love our children by the simplest of pats on the head as they meander by.