When Cameron is particularly upset, or sleepy and needing comfort, he doesn’t just snuggle in close. He burrows his face into my neck, right at my collarbone, nose smushed, mouth open. And he just breathes. He relaxes.
There’s something about that place. A scent, as Carly suggested to me a few weeks ago? I’m not convinced about that. It’s more.
This Mother’s day we had to leave my Nana in the residence she now stays in, unable to stay on her own any more. She’s in a huge wheelchair now, so that she can be comfortable and supported, yet be able to get out of her bed for a while and join in social activities a bit. I was alright until we had to say goodbye – always an emotional time. I hugged my Nana, and did just as Cameron does, without even thinking about it. My forehead nestled right against her jaw, and I just breathed. And cried a little. So much has changed, but whatever that quality is hasn’t. That’s still one of the places I belong, and I did not want to leave.
I sat down to write about the wonderful, easy, fun evening that Cameron and I had tonight, but that’s what is really on my mind. That feeling. Warmth. Heartbeat. Memories of being soothed, comforted, happy, loved. All wrapped up together.
We did have a good evening. We took the False Creek Ferries in the sunshine, watched fish in the sunlight while we waited, giggled about silly stuff, talked about boats. He played at Science World’s playground, shrieking as he threw himself down the slide, laughing as he rolled down the daisy-speckled hill in the sun. Home, no tantrums. Supper he liked. Bath and ice cream. Stories.
As the last story ended, and Jules and Anatole the Camel made it back to their sandy home, Cameron yawned and nestled in close. “Wanna sleep here, Mommy,” he requested, not wanting to leave the comfy chair. He nestled his face right there, that comfort place, smiling. I snuggled into my own ‘other’ comfort place – the top of his head. We both just breathed and stayed right there, until long after he’d fallen asleep.