I tapped my fingers one by one against his skin. I counted each one as it made contact – one, two, three, four, five. “What are you doing?” Counting. I thought by five, this would get easier. Replace “this” with anything you’d like. I thought after you’ve done something, anything, five times it had to get a least a little bit more comfortable. Here we are, number six, still squirming. Maybe the seventh will be a breeze.
A Serious Case of the Spins
I feel small and powerless but don’t remember my age.
A smaller, even more powerless body pulls at my clothes, whining to be held. I oblige, I could use a little love myself. Being held doesn’t stop the whining nearly as much as I would have liked and I consider putting you down but I try bouncing instead.
I turn off one set of lights. This room, an addition, feels almost like a log cabin. The wooden ceiling glows warmly from the lights tucked along the molding. Bouncing, rocking, swaying – your body isn’t THAT much smaller than mine and I’m getting tired fast but you’re still whining and I want to offer solace.
As I stand, I’m starting to fall asleep myself. My eyes drift shut a bit and my sway becomes more to comfort myself than you at this point. At least, before a particularly loud wail breaks my lull. Alert again, I reposition you before I slowly start to spin. The whining stops.
I spin faster and what went from an end of disgruntled sounds erupts to ecstatic ones. I place my hands on your sides and extend my arms, still spinning and for a moment it’s great. Then, fear washes over your face, and your chin quivers. Tears well up and pour as ecstatic laughter turns to panicked shrieks. You’re scared.
The moment I realize it, I stop spinning. I pull you close and comfort you, apologizing. Not only do you accept my apology but you nuzzle in, cling to me, and find comfort in the same person that was at the root of your distress.
It makes me feel weak but it feels good to be needed, appreciated. It feels good to offer a sense of comfort, one I wish I was being given. I mean, inevitably we’re all going to go through distressing situations but doesn’t this comfort, this closeness, make it worth it?
I spin you again to relive the experience, not quite ready to let go of that comfort. You cry harder, cling harder, needing more comfort. Someday down the road, I’ll understand the pain and distrust I’ve built. I’ll find myself hurting for you, remorseful. For right now, though, we’re just two kids that want their needs met and I have an unfair advantage.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 