Surprise and Delight

She crawls on my legs, hands, chest, then pulls herself up to standing on my lap. We are swinging back and forth on the hammock swing together. She pulls the ropes in front of her face, then down again. Peekaboo.

Her little body is strong, the short-sleeve white cotton onesie she wears is snug, showing her baby fat in all its glory. She does her trick again, then shows me a five-toothed grin in delight. Funny.

Then she’s down again to wiggle and giggle and writhe her little squirmy body against my arms, against me, wiggling, squiggling more, more, more. She wants loving.

I comply, my big arms wrapping her in against my body tight. A hug. A big, glorious hug, the kind I wish would never end, the kind that surprises just as her peekaboo game does, the kind that feels good all over as she rests her head on my shoulder, then gently, oh, so gently, which seems out of character for her in this moment, pats.

She pats me. Pat, pat, pats my body as I have to her so many times and I know I’m home. Home.

Then, she’s off! Climbing back up the swing like a trapeze artist, she stands again, grabbing the ropes, this time not with hands but with teeth! She bites and pulls back, delighted at that sound, the feel of that, a single rope between tooth on tooth before letting go. Delight and surpise again. Then she laughs.

She giggles and laughs, a glint in her eye and a nod of her head back and forth, she practices the words “no, no, no.” Did I say that? Was it my words or just the expression in my eyes as I watched her do this trick with her teeth that she could read it wasn’t quite right.

Either way, she knows biting and pulling these dirty rope strands of the hammock isn’t something I would choose for her to do with her new, precious teeth. She watches me carefully, seemingly to enjoy dancing, balancing on that boundary of right or wrong, bad and good.

She takes one more bite of the rope with glee, stomping over this arbitrary line in the sand in this new, mysterious world she’s chosen to be birthed into, and the experience of this rebellion fills her once again with delight and joy. She laughs. We are playing a game.

Then it’s back down again, wiggling and laughing, hugging and patting, and I think to myself the memory of this feeling—this intimate feeling of all-sensing, all-feeling love between mother and new little child is such a gift, one I’ll carry in my heart forever.

I feel so grateful. Her all-body way loving me—giving her whole self to me with hugs, slobber, laughter, pats and baby fat—reminds me what love truly is.