Susan Senator

6 p.m. Nat sat dead center on the white living room couch, knees to chest, staring ahead of him. So peaceful. I was not feeling peaceful, I was in a lot of turmoil. Not a good day for me. I have a lot of trouble transitioning to the weekends, with all of the unstructured downtime and everyone around when I'm used to being by myself. A lot of stuff has been going on in my head and heart lately and I was feeling tossed by my emotional discomfiture.

So there was Nat, an island of quiet. Demanding nothing. Soaking up the early evening hour. As usual. I stood behind him and knelt over him, my hair spilling into his face. I kissed the top of his head. He smelled like oily skin and strawberry shampoo.

Then he surprised me: he reached up and wrapped my hair around his hands, very gently, and pulled it to his nose, breathing deeply. Breathing me in.

"Natty, do you like that? You like my hair like that, in your face?"
"Yes," he said, a big grin stretching across his face.
"I didn't know, Honey." I felt a quick stab of pain as I realized that here was something easy I could have been doing with him for all this time, some happy thing I could have given to him so easily had I known. Had I tried sooner.

I sighed, and looked at his long fingers, clutching at my hair so gently but also so definitely. He wanted me. He still loved me, I was still Mommy. The wonder of it spread through me, soothing my heart.

We just sat there like that for a few long moments, as his soft silence wrapped itself around me, and I was content.