Instincts

When I had Gage a part of me longed to be more primitive, and I allowed it. I gave into my instincts and, actually, welcomed them. So much changes when you have a baby - I think my potential to function at a more basic level changed, too. Where my kids are concerned...I can't afford to think everything over. I need to act quickly, from the gut, and have a constant sixth sense of where they are and whether or not they're well.

Because it works, because the more old-fashioned or animalistic I am with them the closer I feel to them, I allow it to keep going. I completely give in to the urge to sniff them, to smell their sweaty or clean or sun-warmed hair. All three of them are completely used to me sticking my nose deep in the crook of their necks and breathing deeply, just breathing in their smells.

Since Gage was a baby I'd smell him and half-joke: "Yep, that's my baby," as if the visual or aural were not enough - he had to pass the sniff-test, too. Now Gage jokes with Josie - he smells her all over her head and says, "Yep, that's my girl."

I rub my face on their faces, on their heads. I feel very much like a lioness, and the kids respond in cub-like kind. They smile gently and lean into me, half-close their eyes and allow me to rub heads with them. We're like a pack of wild cats, all madly in love with one another.

I breathe in the air from Josie's open mouth, not knowing quite why but choosing not to think too hard about it. It feels right, on that primitive level, so I do it. Her breath smells healthy and milky, and she smells, in a word, familiar.

The first time I left Josie with our 18-year-old babysitter she smelled 'off' for the next several hours. It was the strangest thing. Every time I caught a whiff of her I smelled the babysitter's perfume. It didn't make me jealous or angry, but it made me feel as though something was just a little strange. And it kept happening - I kept smelling that unfamiliar smell and being just a little curious about it, a little alarmed. She didn't smell like my baby, and that really jolted me.

We also snuggle together, the kids and I, a mess of arms and legs and tickly-haired heads, and coo at each other. We make happy little wimpering sounds, just delighted to be so cozy and close. Weird, maybe, but I've never felt better than this.

Gage and Lila made up a fantastic game recently: "Baby Polar Bear." We take turns being the baby, the Mama, the brother/sister polar bear, and the two 'older', well, baby the baby polar bear. If Gage is the baby, Lila and I curl around him in a snuggling pile and she pets his head, I rub his back. We murmur to each other and pretend to feed him fish. We tuck his blanket around him to keep him warm.

I say, over and over, "I will take care of you. I will feed you when you're hungry and make sure you don't get cold. I will protect you."

He closes his eyes with a smile on his face, allowing himself to be entirely cared for (easier when he's a polar bear), and it strengthens all of our hearts, our souls.