No Way

More on communication

As she empties my boob, her hand plays with the opposite nipple. Her feet climb my stomach and her elbows find the most tender parts of my breast tissue. Her gaze connects with mine sometimes, other times it sits still and starstruck over one of her big toes. So jaw-dropped that her mouth releases the captured milk tap to focus on the flickering phalange. After the return to the boob, we play this call and response game that adapted from a mockery of seeing me waking up earlier than I would’ve liked to, one day, months ago. She blinks ridiculously hard and waits for me to do the same. She doesn’t know that I was originally doing so because I rebelliously sleep in my contacts, making some days start with heavily blurred eyes. Hence the excessively rough blink. She doesn’t care the reasoning anyway. Once the notion has been returned, a request for the sure-to-follow aggressive head nod that doubles as a head butt on days that mars is in cappuccino. Which really just means anytime Starbucks gets your name wrong on your cup. Pretty often.

Anyway, I haven’t been to Starbucks in while, but I do know that they print your name on a label these days, so my outdated reference must be forgiven, just like the mockery of my early rising blinks. Forgiven and accepted as a becoming, beautiful bonding catalyst. A continuation of my need to release things that don’t deserve an undoubted acceleration of my microscopic elements, producing unnecessary heat in my organs.

She, without knowing, inspires more breath into my lungs. More sparkle in my dark eyes. More curiosity in my mind. What can I create? What is this body capable of? More life. More love. More understanding. More rest. More knowledge. More grace. Her attitude triggering my deep inner knowing that she is not as ignorant as society thinks. She’s at an age that most people think is mindless, maybe even less intelligent. Every person born into a body similar to how everyone else was (with an exception of minutiae), though there is still little credit given to children. The intuitive, well-natured and instinctual full humans that inhabit smaller bodies than some others are an observant and curious bunch, filled with opportunity and potential to shift the way we do things on this ever changing planet. I ought to give her and myself more credit for being humans. It’s a quick, long journey, we ought to be in joy in every moment.

Her facial expressions mimic mine. They are subtle, yet powerfully legible. Left on her sleeve for the world to interpret. There’s no way when looking at her, that it’s unclear what her boundaries and desires are. That’s another thing that tends to be overlooked in children, unfortunately. Which annoys and scares me most about the adults that come around her who don’t care to respect her “no” and fleeing body language. I need to do a better job at advocating for her (still). She deserves it. And so does the little one in me who forgets to speak up for herself.

In being herself, she is healing parts of me.

THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.

Abby xx