Last night I was reminded of a talk my father and I had back in my teenage years, regarding the comforting nature of a parent's embrace.
I don't recall exactly what had sent me "crying to Daddy" but it must have been something big because I wasn't one to show tears readily. The comforting ended with Dad wrapping his arms around me and cradling me close. "See?" he said. "You still fit perfectly!" He saw my confused expression and proceeded to tell me how, when I was a child and he had held me close he'd been amazed by the perfect fit of my head against his neck and collarbone. As an infant, my (then) small head would notch perfectly in this spot and I would instantly quiet down and drift off to sleep when held that way. With the passage of time I snuggled less, but would still seek out Daddy's arms when hurt-- either inside or out. So he was delighted to see that even though I was now a young woman, my head still remembered that comfort and safety could still be found with him.
I appreciated the sentiment at the time, but it didn't really sink in until a few years later when I embarked on my first job as a professional nanny. I had flown to New York to interview for the position, and on the first afternoon I was given the opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the two-year old, Alex (the one who dubbed me "Wahwer"). We played happily in the den for a while, and when he started showing signs of tiredness I put in a Sesame Street video (per his mom's advice) and sat down on the sofa with him for a little wind-down time. Two minutes into the video, Alex sloth-crawled across the couch and plunked himself comfortably on my lap. His silky head rested warmly against my sternum, and within minutes he was sucking his thumb and nodding off to sleep in my arms. His mom came in not long after, and the expression on her face was a mix of surprise and happiness. At first I wondered if she thought maybe I'd coerced Alex there to make a good impression. But I learned several months down the road (after getting hired for the job) that at that moment she'd known I was the right person for the job because Alex did NOT make up to strangers at all, and if HE thought I was o.k. for cuddling then she thought I was o.k. too!
Two years hurtled by, and the little boy who'd
chosen me those many months before had grown into a lap-full who's head now rested against my windpipe when we settled in for a movie or to read storybooks together. He and I had never discussed this preferred posture for quiet time. It was simply an unspoken action that symbolized the security and rightness of our bond. When my contract ended and I went off to college, I soon realized that I mourned feeling the trusting warmth of a pre-schooler nestled on my lap & wondered if he missed me as well when it was time for "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" or "Good Night Moon." It wasn't until the following June that I got my answer.
Twelve months later I traveled back to New York to visit old friends, and made a point of scheduling time to see Alex and his sister (who had been born during my time with his family). I was prepared for little Madeline to not remember me-- she was only 16 months old when I left, and in toddler years that translates into decades. But I felt in my heart that Alex would remember me. When I arrived at their home Madeline was napping and Alex was out with his grandparents, so I nonchalantly asked the new nanny if Alex ever talked about me. "Oh no," she said smugly, "I don't think he's EVER even mentioned you to me." The look on her face held not a trace of sympathy-- I knew she didn't understand how devastating it was for me to think I'd been forgotten--Me, someone who had been such a large part of his life. Minutes later Madeline made her sleepy appearance at the kitchen doorway, and I was happy to see that while she snuggled in her nanny's arms and cuddled her blankie close, she condescended to bestow a sheepish smile at a stranger (me!) when I called her name. I sipped a Diet Coke and steeled myself for rejection from my little man.
Nanny and I were deep in conversation when I heard the grandparents' car pull into the driveway. I eased my way toward the door, then jogged down the back stairs to meet them. I had barely hit the bottom step when 40-odd lbs of wiggling 5-year-old hit me at full speed. He let out a sound that was a combination of a scream and a laugh, and then proceeded to apply a respectable death grip around my neck. I managed to keep my dignity intact, returned his embrace, then turned say hello to Grandma Caryl and Poppa Skippy (who had also been a wonderful part of my time in NY). Soon they left and I was alone with Alex, Maddy, and Nanny to await the parents' return. We drifted into the den and turned on afternoon cartoons, and Nanny and I were soon busy catching up on neighborhood gossip,when suddenly I felt a small pair of arms wrap themselves around my neck from over the back of the couch. Then Alex scaled the arm of the chair and flopped onto my lap, gangly legs stretching down, shoeless heels gently thrumming my shins, sun-warmed head wedged under my chin (which was pointing toward the ceiling to accommodate his new heights). Permission was neither requested nor given-- it simply wasn't needed. Alex, blissfully unaware of my struggle for composure, bounced his legs to the cartoon music while I fixed my blurry eyes skyward. Hot tears shot down my cheeks, and I didn't care what the new nanny thought. He wasn't a baby anymore, but the bond was just as strong as ever. He
remembered me, and I couldn't have named a better feeling in the world than that open-armed gift of love and attachment.
Last night I held my friend's three-month-old baby girl in my arms. Little Taylor Rose has no idea what's in store for her at the hands of her demented Auntie Wahwer (in addition to her other honorary aunties, the Ya Ya's). Together we have nearly 150-combined years of womanly experience to impart to her, and the first tidbit came when her rosebud lips began to pucker and her tiny face threatened rain while I held her. Ya Ya Chris told her, "Now Taylor-- no crying right now. Ya Ya's only cry when they drink, and as a Ya Ya-in-training, you need to learn that this is NOT the appropriate time. Collect yourself!" Miss Taylor straightened up, composed her features, then promptly wedged her head against my neck and collar bone to settle for a snooze. I sniffed her perfume of Dreft detergent and baby powder and marveled at the genius of the creator who knew to make a child's head fit exactly... that... spot.
