“Mommy, will you snuggle me for 5 more minutes?” I rest my head against his doorframe and breathe a deep sigh, trying to hide the impatience I feel inside. I almost made it out of his dark, cozy room and into my evening routine when my five-year-old turns on that needy, sweet, innocent voice that he only uses on me. And in that voice I hear it – it’s a mixture of stalling and genuine need of mommy time. So much need. I begrudgingly oblige him, but my mind counts down the minutes until I can leave. Four minutes. Surely I can snuggle with my oldest for four mintues.
The dinner dishes are piled in the sink, waiting to be put into the dishwasher that still needs to be unloaded. The laundry sits in the dryer, crumpled and cold while the washer needs to be re-run because the clothes inside have soured after almost a day without moving. Not to mention the work I need to get done tonight and the emails I need to return from clients impatiently waiting on me…needing me…demanding attention. The dishwasher light glows a bright green, demanding my attention. The dryer buzzes the same reminder that I have ignored all day, somehow seeming to sound more impatient and demanding with each monotonous buzz. My phone chimes from the living room, another email, another text, another need to be met. It’s all I can do to keep it together. Not only am I needed and dragged in so many different directions, but the thought of laying still in a bed while awake…not being productive or accomplishing my growing list…just being still and quiet….is hard for this Type A Mama.
On top of all of that, I am not a snuggler. I have never been a snuggler. I like my space when in bed and never understood how anyone can sleep with legs and arms draped together. Don’t you get hot? I am not a snuggler with my husband. We have separate corners when it comes time to fall asleep. Not to mention, one of us (not me) is a snorer. Do you know what it’s like to have a braying donkey inches away from your ear while you’re trying to sleep? Imagine said donkey wrapping its heavy legs around you. That’s just one hot, loud, sleepless mess. Nope. No thank you.
I am not a snuggler with my kids. They want to lay their heads in weird, uncomfortable places and punch wildly with their pointy elbows while they sleep. Then occasionally they wake up and are surprised to find me there and reach up to poke my face just to be sure. Sleeping with my kids has never worked for me, and that’s entirely because snuggling is just not my thing. Speaking of which, how much longer on the clock for this snuggle time?
Three minutes left. Is the clock working? Add it to the checklist of things to look into tomorrow. Maybe it’s running slow because it needs new batteries. Three more minutes. Tune in, Mom, Your Boy just asked you a question.
“Mmmhhmmmm” I respond, hoping for a yes or no question. Wrong.
“Mommy, you’re not even listening.” Busted. I ask him to repeat himself and he asks me to tell him the story of the little boy that made me a Mommy. It’s his favorite story. The guilt starts seeping in.
I tell him the story of his birth – of the wonderful day this girl with a hole in her heart found the missing piece…her little boy. How she never knew a tiny person could change the way she looked at the world, at life, at love. How her favorite thing to do was hold him and look at him. I glanced at the clock as the story finished. Seven minutes. Time flew by in an instant as my first born and I took a walk down memory lane together. As he reminded me of just how I felt bringing him into the world. As he started to drift to sleep, he whispered in my ear “You’re the best Mommy ever.” The guilt seeped in deeper.
Moments before this I let the weight of the world – of things that don’t matter – try to pull me from my Little Boy. I let chores, and work, and time get to me.
As I give him one last hug and slip from his room, I think of all my favorite memories. Most of them involve him and his Little Brother, and most of those are only snapshots of moments in time. Moments of holding them, rocking them, watching them sleep. Moments of sleeping next to a sick baby because my presence was the only thing that would calm the cries. Moments of snuggles so dear and sweet that they feel like pictures I’ve looked at a thousand times.
It’s amazing how one minute your identity goes from wife/woman/friend/daughter to Mom. How instantly you love someone without knowing a single thing about them. How that same tiny human can take this anti-snuggler and create the happiest moments of my life filled with snuggles. I may never truly understand the logistics of the snuggle; the sweaty inferno of body heat and pointy elbows, but I do understand the comfort they feel and the joy I feel when we snuggle. Maybe, just maybe, I am a *selective* snuggler, after all.
