Armpit

I wonder sometimes what the kids will think when they realize that I keep/have kept a blog where I've put them front and centre. It could go either way. I mean they could shatter my daydream that one day they will be grateful that I recorded their childhood in such a personal and public way by becoming angry that I would expose them in such a way. They could find it one of those irritating things they can't stand about their parents. I don't know. It is a different day from when I was a kid, that's for sure.

I wonder how Deaglan will feel at age 17 that I wrote a post about his love of sticking his hand in his mother's armpit for comfort when he was a toddler. That I told anyone in the free world who cared to know that almost everytime I came into a room, he looked for his beloved choo-choo (soother) and announced the word Armpit implying that he wanted me to sit on the couch beside him and put my arm around him so that he could access the warmth of my armpit while sucking on his soother.

I wonder if he'll roll his eyes that I wrote this post and even included the history of Armpit. That he always, from the day he was born, needed to let me know that he needed comfort, by pinching my arms in the beginning with his pudgy baby hands and then throughout the process of weaning him from my breast , developing the habit of slipping his hand into my armpit to continue our closeness.

I wonder what he'll think about the fact that I loved Armpit and it was just as much a security blanket for me as it was for him. That when I stopped nursing him, I was the saddest I'd ever been in my life because I missed his baby suckling, his need for me in that way. That he substituted this special bond we had with something new, something else just for us. That when I came home from the hospital with Naveen, I cried out of his earshot that I couldn't do Armpit as often first because I was inept at trying to juggle both of their needs.

I wonder if he will ever understand how much I treasured Armpit and the thought of its inevitable ending always reduced me to near-tears. I wonder if he'll understand that keeping this blog helped me remember and savour these treats of motherhood before they slipped through my grasp so mercilessly.

I wonder.

The picture is of Deaglan in the backpack on our wedding day as Shaune and I raced around to get the backyard ready for our guests. It's hard to believe he was that small.