Mommy, I Wuv You

"But, Mommy, I wannna be your baby 'gan. I wan' be in yo' belly." These words from my youngest as she winds her spindly arm around my leg, squeezing tight, shoving her head against my back. She says the words, but I am the one who remembers.

I am the two-year-old, or maybe three, and I love my mommy. I wound my arm around her leg, I shoved my head into her hip, I tried to crawl back into her womb. I know you all loved your mothers, but I really, really loved my mommy. She was my whole world.

My parents divorced when I was an infant, and it was just the two of us for those first few years. Mom went to graduate school, got a master's degree in counseling, and started work, all while repairing a broken heart--missing her married life, the foster children she lost, the white picket fence she thought she had been building. But I knew none of this. I knew that Mommy wore pretties (blush and lipstick), and I wanted them, too. I knew Mommy cooked with recipe cards, and I tried to cook with them, too. I knew Mommy read the newspaper, so I spread it out and "read" the pages. I knew that the skin between Mommy's neck and shoulder was the best place to rub your face. I knew that Mommy's hand fit perfectly around mine. I knew that Mommy was the best, the very best person, the very best thing in the whole wide world. And she was all mine.

When I was about 3 or 4, Mom taught Sunday School to preschoolers at our church. I remember trying to sit on BOTH sides of her, because no one should be sitting next to MY mommy! Poor Mom would try to work on the lesson (probably about loving one another!), and pull me off of her.

I loved the smell of her make-up. Long after her kiss, I could still smell the make-up, surrounding me like a Mommy-cloud, holding me together. As an adult, I found out it was Covergirl (makes sense; it was pretty inexpensive), and just opening the cap would take me back to my mom giving me a kiss good-bye at day care. I'd watch out the window, seeing her car pull away, and feel the pull in my stomach. Bye, Mommy... bye... bye. Even though I loved day care, and then school, I always just wanted one more minute with my mom.

My mom would read me stories, not just one or two, but really as many as I would be willing to sit for. She'd read and I snuggle into her skin, feel her breath coming in and out, try to climb inside her, as Becca does to me. I can still hear her voice in my head, when I read "Goodnight Moon," or Richard Scarry's "Cars and Trucks and Things That Move." She would sing me songs and rock me, "Here's a Wee Baby," or some strange song that I never really did figure out all the words to, "Don't you ask me to come over to your house today..." My mom's singing could be like Valium for me, long after I was too old to be rocked and sung to. I'd get upset--that kind of crazy, flinging, screaming, blind with fury, the world whirring past you out of control--and she'd stroke my hair, sing me a song, and pull me out of the tornado.

As a teenager, I once had a dream that my mother was murdered. My dad and I were, of course, devastated. But, when I awoke, I still couldn't shake it. I couldn't imagine a world without my mother. Sure, I sassed her and rolled my eyes at her and argued with every single word she said. But my mother was still my whole world. I still loved her with every ounce of my being. I still wished that she could pick me up and I could snuggle my face into the crook of her neck. I still wanted to wrap my arm around her leg and push my head into her hip. When my teenage world went crazy, I still wished she would sing her songs and stroke my hair. If my mother weren't in the world, who would love me like she did? Who would fill that space in my heart? Every once in a while, when I'm worried about my mother, that dream will hit me like a speeding semi, and I'll feel it: What would I do without Mommy?

Now, I am the mommy. My husband has taken the role of the person who loves me the most. Mom and I have a wonderful relationship, but it has changed its course to more of a a friendship than the one-sided "I take all" we had as I was growing up. I still know that I can count on her to love me, no matter what. I can call her to talk me off the edge when I feel like jumping instead. I hope that now, she knows she can count on me for the same. That love has transformed into the best kind of friendship. Still, now, always, I cannot imagine my life without my mother.

Now, my children are the ones who need the comforting. I rock them, I sing to them, I stroke their hair when they are upset. But, as I do, I still feel her here--my mommy--showing me how to love.