One of my besties, A. from I Am Vulnerable is the next person to step forward for guest-posting duties. You are all wonderful, People of the Computer who email me. One gorgeous person said to me last week they would love to post, if it "fits" in my blog.
Mate. MATE. Everything fits in my blog. Everything. Everyone. All is welcome, I am non-exclusive. My number one golden rule of blogging I stole from Kenickie: "Rules are, there aint no rules."
A. is a deep soul. She is funny, quirky, thoughtful, and fucking SMART. I'm friends with her on facebook. A few weeks ago, when I felt lower than lowdown, she posted this on her wall:
(I watched it so many times. LOVED. Knock it off!)
This clip is like A. - sassy, speaking the Truth. Real. She's not even an alcoholic, yet looks inside herself all the time, for particular answers and reasons and feelings.
I love her. I have been privileged to watch her journey unfold, from the deepest pain to exquisite joy, culminating in the birth of her son. Her son is so lucky. One day we will make it to the others Sacred Women's Circle and laugh about life and cry about death, all in the same breath.
I've had this post rattling around my head for a while and when Eden asked for guest posts, it was the push I needed to get it written. Because Eden is a mother of boys and that is what this post is all about.
One of the surprises of motherhood for me has been the depth of physical intimacy I feel with my son. I love him like an animal - my adoration for him is primal and rooted so deeply in my body. I am still breastfeeding him at 16 months and he shows no sign of wanting to stop anytime soon and I am fine with that - truthfully, I love it. But beyond that part of our relationship is the part in which I want to eat him up. I want to smell his milky breath. I want to kiss him all over. I want to cuddle him when he's naked and squish his delectable little baby squishiness. I want to whisper secrets in his ear and play with his hair and tickle his feet and hold his delightful chubby little fingers while he sleeps.
In the midst of this loveapalooza, though, there is a tinge of sadness and loss. Because he is a boy. Because he will leave me, eventually, and grow up, up, and away.
Even though he is still so little, and needs me so much, I am starting to see the seeds of his independence beginning to sprout. And last week I realized that there will be a last time that I will ever see his penis
Admittedly, that day is a long way off. Still. With any child, the intimacy is bound to change as they grow and we mothers are no longer wiping bums and bathing with them. But you know that with a daughter, you can still go through the locker room at the pool together. You will still get to peek into the change room when she is trying on clothes. She will need you to explain the womanly mysteries of periods, boobs, the minefield that is adolescent girl friendship.
Boys, well - don't they eventually retreat into silence and recoil at the merest hint of a cuddle?
I know that much of this is uncertain, that every child is different, that my sweet snuggly boy might well stay that way for a long time to come, and that of course girls have their own tactics to withdraw and create distance - I sure as hell did. And of course I am happy (mostly, though it does go just so damn fast) to see him changing, and I would never wish for him to stop learning and growing. But I am already feeling a bit sad when I think about how I will one day no longer be able to gaze upon his adorable wang.
PS Hey A. - Max asks me to sleep next to him all the time. I plan on patting his head in his sleep every fucking chance I get, as long as I'm alive. There is a bond that no age can erase. XO
:: All Of The Things: Washi Tape
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