Mama’s Touch

Maya — 21 months yesterday — is cutting three teeth right now: two on the bottom and one on top. And with this recent bout of teething, she has been super-clingy the past couple of days. Like screaming if she isn’t in my arms at.all.times. Of course, she can’t be in my arms at.all.times. but it’s been a rough couple of days, to say the least.

Last night, she woke up crying at 11 PM. Knowing I wasn’t feeling well (upper resp. infection — lucky me!) Luis went in there to see what was up. But after a half hour, she was still crying. So I went in and saw her writhing in his arms in the glider. He was trying to give her some Infant Tylenol (the one thing that works for her) but she wouldn’t have any of it — shooing his hand away and pursing her little lips in defiance, moaning “Noooooo.”

I hate to be the knight(ess) in shining armor when he was trying so hard to calm her down, but I had a feeling I’d be able to soothe her. Something about Mama’s touch. Mama’s warmth. Mama’s arms. Mama.

Sure enough, she saw me and began reaching for me, crying “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” in between fits of tears. We exchanged a knowing glance and then I took her. The moment she was in my arms … silence. Comfort.

She let Luis put the medicine in her mouth — after a little fight. And within minutes, she was sound asleep in my arms and — like on this night a couple months ago — I stayed with her and held her simply because I could.

Cradling, her — she is so much longer now! — her face still looked so tiny with her tear-soaked eyes closed and her cheek warm and pressed up against me. We were belly-to-belly … like she had been in the womb. As her breaths slowed and calmed into a steady rhythm, I wanted the moment to last forever. Since it couldn’t last forever, I decided to write about it.

I know there will come a day when she is 13 and hates me and only wants her Daddy (she is very much Daddy’s little girl!) but for now, it’s all about mommy and I’m along for the ride.

It’s funny, too, because today still I’ll curl up in my mom’s lap and she’ll rub my forehead and I’ll start to drift off to sleep. There’s just something about a mother’s touch.

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