The warmth of a daughter’s hand

I never expected to feel love for my daughter in such a physical way.

You know how your heart jumps in your chest when your new boyfriend calls you, or when your husband comes home with a single red rose or a huge bunch of lilies, or when your best friend announces that she is pregnant?

Well, holding your daughter in your arms and getting that hug back from her feels just the same – it’s the feeling of love. Physical love.

It also happens when she caresses your face, or your arm, or your hand as she suckles your breast or as you give her her bottle.

Then there is also the times when all you want is kiss – no, eat! – her tummy, her legs, her feet, her cheeks, her nose, her neck. That also comes from a place of physical love. You just can’t resist it. Just like when you want to kiss your new boyfriend all day long, and then again all night long, or just like when you want to kiss that precious space in your husband’s neck.

But what always takes me by surprise is the warmth of her hand in mine. Not when we’re about to cross the road. No – in a quiet moment. When we’re looking at a book together, or when she is upset or ill and I am about to take her in my arms to give her the biggest cuddle to make her feel better. That tiny hand provides so much warmth, I can never quite believe it when I feel it.

PS: The picture is from when my daughter was 2 weeks old!

Motherhood

Will I ever be ready? Sometimes it feels like I’m still a child myself. Sometimes it feels like I left France and my childhood only a few months ago. (Yet it’s been nearly 11 years, and I’m going to turn thirty soon...) So how can I even contemplate having a baby? At times I’m scared that I’ll have too many tribulations of my own to be able to cope with my child’s – I fear that it will be up to my child to help and support me, not vice versa...

I occasionally think ‘I can’t wait to be a mother!’ and I imagine what the baby, then toddler, then child would be like and how fun it would all be! ... But at other times, all I can think about is the lack of freedom, the lack of time (to write, to read, to see my friends, to go out, to rest, to sleep), the lack of peace, the worry...

I simply can’t imagine a different life – for I know our lives would be completely changed. I have finally reached a point where I’m content with my lot (most of the time), so I really don’t want things to change (or indeed, to change them, active verb, for it would be our decision to change them...). That murky, muddy, troubled water at the bottom of the lake of my life is now far, far down, my roots getting longer and driving me away from it every day, but it’s taken some getting used to – life without the murk, life on the surface, surrounded by clean air, life with joy, on my big green ‘leaf of stability’... Will having a child disturb those dark waters and send some sandy mud up to the surface?

Until recently, it felt like my life was upside down all the time. Now, it’s finally the right way up (though still a bit wonky sometimes) – why would I want to turn my life upside down again (and this time voluntarily)?

On a different note, I am terrified that the day I’m finally ready and really want a child, I’ll be told that I (we) can’t conceive. This morning, I realised I would have had all this worry for nothing.

So back to meditation again – only the present counts. In bed this morning, I shed a few angry tears at the realisation that my life was still and always wonky; that the smallest worry, the tiniest analysing thought sends me right back to instability, that imbalance that I hate so much. But suddenly, I remembered – Only The Present Counts. And as I thought about the present – my warm cosy bed, the roof over my head, the singing birds outside, my fiancé next to me – I realised that in the present, I do feel stable. It was such a relief! ‘I can be stable!’ I wanted to shout! As long as I don’t think about the past and don’t worry about the future, as long as I live in the moment, I feel pretty happy, quite content with my life. It’s as soon as I start reflecting on what was, what could have been, what could be, what should be and what I think will be that I become unhappy.

So – motherhood? Well, I’m sure it’s like marriage. You’re not ready for it for ages, and suddenly that’s all you can think about. Let’s wait for that day – for that moment, that present.