I am a very tactile person. I like the feel of things. I like
to touch things. I like comparing textures and weights. I think that’s one of
the reasons I love to sew: I love the contrast of soft, slippery satin and
rough, nubby corduroy. I love the feeling of a piece of fabric sliding between
my fingers. A lot of the things that I enjoy I can connect to my love of
touching. I love to go canoeing because I like the feeling of dragging my
fingertips in the cool water. I like going to the beach because I like the
feeling of the damp sand squishing between my toes. I like cooking because I
like the feel of touching the elastic bread dough and the mushy ground beef and
the slippery raw eggs and the cold vegetables. And because of my love of
touching, I especially love to touch my children.
I am constantly hugging and kissing my children, running my
fingers through their hair, scritching their backs, and holding their hands.
They’re both young enough that they like it (or at least tolerate it), but I
have no doubt that the day is coming when the most physical contact I’ll get
will be a brief hair ruffle. So I’m taking advantage of their snuggliness while
I can.
One of my favorite snuggly moments is my daughter’s naptime.
She is working her way out of needing a nap, so she fights it tooth and nail.
But I’ve discovered that one way to get her to relax and let herself fall
asleep is to snuggle with her. I lay down on the couch or on her bed and pull
her close to me. She knows what I’m up to, so she often pulls away. But as she
starts to fall asleep, she almost inevitably reaches out and wraps her hand
around mine. She may act like she doesn’t need to touch me, but in her
half-asleep state, she still reaches to Mama for comfort.
I love that. I will always love having her hand in my hand.
Because I know that means I have her heart in my hand, too.
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