Mother and Child

That phrase is as familiar as any in the Christmas repertoire—so familiar that we tend to run by it without really processing how beautiful is the reality reflected in the text.

 

But those words pierced me a couple of nights ago as I was putting Julianna to bed. Ever since she began crawling, she has wanted nothing to do with being held and cuddled. She arches her back and makes her feelings known at various pitch and volume levels, depending on the extent of her restraint. She hurts Alex’s feelings by refusing to hold his hand in the van. J

 

At night, however, all rules are suspended. The last thing in her bedtime routine is a snuggle on Mommy’s or Daddy’s shoulder. Christian sings; I rock her in silence, as the whirling gears in my brain bleed off tension and I sink into heavenly peace. Usually, she lays her ear on my shoulder and tucks her arms beneath her. But this once, she let them dangle, allowing her chest to lie flat against mine. For a brief moment, our hearts beat in counterpoint to each other—a wordless conversation, a holy communion.

 

She is daddy’s girl through and through, and I would never downplay the fierce love, joy, and delight that Christian takes in fatherhood. Yet that connection between mother and child, stretching backward in time to the very moment when existence begins, links us irrevocably. It was Mother who provided Julianna with all sustenance and comfort for the first nine months of her life, and Mother whose breasts filled and overflowed with sweetness for her nourishment once she was out in the world. It is Mommy who shares food from her own plate every night, and only Mommy will do, when Alex’s very physical brand of showing love surpasses her capacity for tolerance and she needs comfort.

There are so many directions I could spin off this topic…the way this connection plays out with Alex, our mama’s boy…the way Julianna’s special needs intensify it…the way it plays out in adulthood. Perhaps in my next post, I need to honor the specialness of fatherhood. But for now, I want to pause and treasure these moments, as Mary did—to “ponder these things in my heart”—to weave them into the very fabric of who I am as a person, and let them guide me toward the next point along my journey.