Tucked Away

Away, tucked away in layers of cotton and breath.
I so hurriedly herded and encouraged and needed you there.
I held your half grown self firmly against me, absorbed your heat, your smell, your relentless adoration.

My heart pricked with the shame of my shortcomings.

Out from her mouth spilled the verbal commitment of her heart to me, her appreciation of her existence.  And I no longer wanted to give her to the night.
I needed her to know how sorry I am for showing up to this task with a nearly empty tank.
It's not ok.
I should be able to do it anyway.
I wanted to wail at her feet and beg for the day back- to not yell, to not speak harshly, to hold hands, to be still and listen, to be on the floor and catch all the moments that cannot be retrieved in these mourning hours of the night.

I wanted to promise that by tomorrow I will have it figured out.
I will be outfitted, somehow overnight, with the gear I need to be that mom. 
Maybe I just don't have the correct candle scent warming and filling my nostrils,
maybe the motivational quote on my computer screen isn't potent enough,
maybe the GMOs in my snacks are impacting my brain function.
Whatever it is, I wanted to promise her to have it solved and resolved by 8am tomorrow.

Of course I don't actually share any of this. 
Look at her.
She sees only perfection in me.
Why would I trouble her world when all of this only exists in mine.

She falls from my grip like a felled tree, vibrating the bed frame, sending the creatures surrounding her into the air, collapsing the pillow up around her face.

I don't love

If I accept people as they are, I am loving them even when I can't stand them.  Right?  So when someone I love (supposedly) can only communicate with me by airing their upsets, annoyances and endless ways they have been wronged...I just accept it, if I love them.  I wouldn't tell them to change.  I wouldn't put rules on the type of communication I would allow them to bring to me.  I would just see that this is a suffering person. This is a person who is stuck in a vicious cycle of victim-hood that was created long ago and has been nothing but reinforced everyday and in every thought.

I am not that loving person.  I hear the dissent and my skin pricks, the muscles tighten around my neck and my jaw clenches.  I am not listening anymore and am instead running through all the reasons I cannot stand to be in this conversation anymore.  I have become resentful.  I have created reason upon reason for why I am right about this person's griping being pathetic and selfish.  I am so removed from a position of loving that I can hardly touch this person without feeling awkward and distant.

The only person I really love is my child.  I don't know of another person who I love in every moment, regardless of her momentary mood or behavior.  I see her acting out and I wonder what the hurt is, what the need is that isn't being fulfilled.  I know this is true for every person.  The acting out fills a void.  We are mostly creatures that interact with the acting-out parts of each other, instead of loving through that moment and discovering what is really going on.

The person I most work on loving is my husband.

So I guess what I'm saying is that I am an amateur lover.  I have trained myself over time to love sparingly and with great caution.  I clearly see how this does myself and others a disservice.  I worry that I will inadvertently pass this sometimes painful trait on to my babies.  I have an extraordinary opportunity to practice loving over the next few days.  To say it out loud sounds like a silly, simple task.  Just to love someone.   Yet the thought of releasing all the stored up resentments, with whom I've become close and friendly, presents itself as scary.