Touch

Two tummies touch each other, one still big and juggly and the other, pink, fresh, soft and sleek. Then the little mouth blows into the navel, slobbers saliva a truck load of saliva over and over again. Then we stick and rub our cheeks together and let out this sound of plain joy and ecstasy and I can just close my eyes and know this is pure sweet bliss.

Ah! the joys of being a mommy.

I think I enjoy this more if not at least as much as Pickle. To have someone, your little nut, just come and surprise you unexpectedly and want to hug you and roll over you and then run away to his nursery. Then disappear for what seems like a long time and then dash screaming into the room saying Mamma, SEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (and the vowel there being really loud and shrill) as he shows me this masterpiece of a truck or chair he had made with his blocks.

I remember my mom telling me when I was in college that I hardly hugged her anymore. Obviously I didn't understand what she was saying then as well as I understand now. A hug wasn't just a hug, it was (and still is) the deep taking in of the smell and sense of your child, a part of you. The touch of my cheek on her shoulder. I so miss that now. Plus I don't think we hug as much even when we're together. Just makes me sad. Perhaps there is more an understanding as two adults, almost at par, as we talk, share thoughts and enjoy our silences. We touch each other in different ways. She touches my heart every day. Now let me go call her as she would've just reached home from work. I know she's tured but she'll put in that extra spring in her voice to mask her fatigue. Coz that my mom, my darling.