What's Mine Is Mine. For Now, Anyway.

It was early afternoon and I was nursing my daughter.

I looked down at her bare foot and saw, in between her very-tiny-and-amazingly-cute-toes, tons of sock fuzz that she was squirreling away in there.  I mean tons.  So, while she was content and distracted, I began harvesting (an oddly satisfying job).  While I was focusing on her in this way, I was hit with a powerful feeling.  A feeling that, for lack of a better word, was something akin to ownership.

I looked at her laying there.  I soaked my eyes up with looking at her tiny, perfect-to-me, form. I cupped my hand around her ankle and moved it up her leg, over her ever-chubbing-up thigh to give it a little squeeze.  I patted her butt and straighted her onesie and almost without awareness, this thought came to me:

"She is mine.  This little girl belongs to me." 

As an ambivalent breeder and a keen observer, how many countless times had I seen every mother I've ever known do something similar to one of her own children?  Brush away some dirt.  Straighten an article of clothing. Pick a piece of lint. Run a hand through hair.  Caress a shoulder.  Hold a hand. Kiss a forehead.  Pat a back.  These seemingly careless, simple interactions--just a part of the daily record--all 'in-part' actions.  Little things, done without thought, while in the process of doing something else.  Mothering on autopilot.

I believe that I've seen the feeling that welled in me reflected in the expressions on the faces of the mothers that I've watched.  In the middle of conversations with me, their attention momentarily diverted to their children in need, their expressions slide into the sublime--love eyes and a half-smile to go with whatever ministration and then back to me without missing a beat.

I know that I don't own my little girl, in a proprietary sense.  She's not property.  She's a human being with rights and wants and needs.  She has no problem expressing them, let me tell you.  But she does belong to me.  It's my job to protect her, to care for her, to love her up as much as possible, despite the intrusiveness that is inherent in caring for a mostly helpless creature.  I am the one who does most of the caring, so, in that sense, she is all mine.  [I'm not excluding The Man but this is my story, here, so quit thinking about him already.]

I am the one who has to change the diapers, wipe the poop, bathe her to remove the surprisingly stinky neck cheese (over her turbo-charged protests). I am the one who has to take her to the doctor to get stuck, wrangle her into ridiculously cute outfits, and get her to go to sleep (AKA: swaddle-swaddle-rock-rock-hum-rock-bounce-butt-pat-here-suck-my-wrinkly-prune-pinky-rock-rock-rock) and all of the other less than sparkling jobs of motherhood. 

But, at the same time, I'm the one who has the most license.  The most access.  I get to unswaddle her in the morning and watch her grunt and stretch while she wakes.  I get to tickle her right behind her jaw and watch her face crack the biggest, shiniest smile ever.  I get to squeeze those chubby little thighs.  I can kiss all over her little face and neck, even when she's squalling at me.  I can pat her butt, scoop her up, hold her and take her with me wherever I want to go.  And there is no one else who is allowed to harvest her toe fuzz (just put the baby down and back away from those. toes.)

And I'm going to do all that intrusive kissing and hugging and loving up of my girl.

Until she asks me to stop, that is.

Which I already know will be too soon for me.

Comments

[Not a Princess]

I used to say that my Pumpkin should be licensed by the Commonwealth of Virginia as their chief fuzz collector. Put the boy in the clean bathtub and astonishing amounts of fuzz/yuck would rise from his toes and into the formerly clean water. However; I have a VERY finicky sister in law and she and her daughter (two years older than said Pumpkin) were horrified by his toe fuzz. That is, they thought it was really gross until I lifted up his little penis and introduced them to penis cheese... Just a little perspective from a 3rd time mom.

[Leeanthro]

I find myself picking at toe fuzz while nursing. It reminds me that we are still primates. But I don't eat it!!

[WhyMommy]

Awesome post! Don't you love every little nook and cranny of these little babies?

[The Estrogen Files]

Oh yes, it's full on now. It will never, ever end for you.

[amy]

You've captured it perfectly. Mother-love.

[Kelly]

Who're you kidding? You'll do it well beyond the point where she asks you to stop. For one, she doesn't really mean it in the beginning and it's a game and very funny, and for two when she *does* mean it, you'll already have been shoved aside enough to be willing to be that extra-bit selfish and steal another kiss.

[heidi :: daisybones]

I've had this same moment. Well, my actual toe jam moment was less sublime and more like "Holy Shit- Have I ever cleaaned between her toes? Is this eleven months of toe jam? I am a gross mom!" but the sublime belonging moment? Yes. Goddess yes. A transendant yet earthy realization of her ties to me. It's simple and mundane and amazing at once.

Your post reminds me of the most heartbreaking and true advice that my baby's namesake- Big Molly, with apologies;)- gave me at my baby shower:

She isn't yours but is entrusted to you for a short time; treasure that time.

[Mom101]

Who knew that toe cheese could inspire something so beautiful.

[mel]

You are killing me. Killing me. My husband and just had the talk tonight about possibly having another baby. Your posts are making it impossible for me to feign ambivalence.

Enjoy harvesting the toe fuzz now, because in a few years....it 'aint so cute. :)

[jen]

this brought so much back...and was so lovely. sigh.

[Mrs. Chicky]

It will happen too quickly and that's why I'm all teary eyed right now. Own her while you can.

[little sister]

And that is the truth. Once you get over the "OMG, what do I do with this thing?" there is a real belonging that grows up between the two of you. Don't forget that you are just as much hers as she is yours.

I still sometimes can't believe that I am so important to another human being.

[In the Trenches of Mommyhood]

You brought a tear to my eye. Just remembering that baby love. For now I have stinky boyz who would certainly scream in protest if I started digging out their toe jam.

[Motherhood Uncensored]

It goes all too quickly. Then you reminisce with your 3-year-old about how you used to rock her and she goes "And sing this song... right mommy."

And then you realize, they remember. They do.

[divrchk]

When my 4 year old asks me to stop I do tell him that I own him :-)

[Swistle]

I find that the more I take physical care of a baby, the more I bond with him/her. At first a newborn is just a newborn to me. But then I start harvesting toe fuzz, and I fall in love for reals.

[Lora]

What a beautiful post. My son is 5 and I always say that I will take every opportunity to hug and kiss him because in the blink of an eye, he won't want to have anything to do with me. Already I've seen him check around the place we are to make sure no one is watching before he leans over to give me a kiss...it darn near broke my heart!

[slouchingmom]

Oh. Honestly I might have to take a vacation from reading here. Because the baby lust is killing me.

Such a sweet post.

[Much More Than A Mom]

What a great way to put it. It does end far too soon, but it also keeps getting better & better!

[Amanda]

Gorgeous... ;)