i’m going to try and write about some of the words i’ve missed over this past month. december was really difficult, and january is proving to be hard, too, but i want to catch up. i know it’s kind of not the purpose of the blog, as pocketbrit and i first intended, but hey, evolution.
whittling away at all those words just feels important.
i am a very warm person, in the temperature sense of the word. i mean, i hope in other senses too, i think i am, but my body itself is warm. i need to have a foot hanging out of the sheets at night, coz i get overheated. my hands are almost always warm, as are my feet, in fact, they are often too warm (which i hate). my wife and friends will often grab my hands to warm theirs up, which i am more than happy to do, i have plenty to go around! i can always tell if i am tired or if i am getting ill, because i will feel cold, and it is such an unusual feeling for me.
i wasn’t always this way, i don’t think. my internal thermometer first seemed to have gotten reset when i lived in india. it was so so so SO hot there, and maybe, by living there, by loving it there, by learning so much about myself and about the world while i was there, i absorbed india into my cells? i don’t know, but it changed me, made me warmer, brought heat to my life in a way i hadn’t had experienced it previously.
and then, when i carried my daughter, something seemed to permanently reset. i mean, lots of things did: i became a mother. my body changed, the meaning of my life changed, so much was altered. but when i was pregnant, i was a veritable furnace. you could feel the warmth radiating from my body, i was a heat source, and i stayed that way afterwards. was it hormones? sure, maybe at first, but i’ve stayed that way.
i’ve always craved warmth in people. my parents were intermittently warm, my mom confusingly cold and then less so, at times. and to me, warmth was about words, but more about the feeling you got around someone. how they looked at you. how they held you in their gaze. how they physically touched you, or didn’t, but made you feel they were. the tone and cadence of their voices. the care with which they moved around you. i noticed all those things, valued all those things that belie words and defy description.
my little one, or the version of her that i carry, wants more than anything to be held. all the time, to be held. i am not sure i realized the depth of that need until recently, but that’s pretty much all she lives for. she is my little spidermonkey (arms and legs wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck), a wee love bug, a cuddle monster. wrapped in layers of blankets, snugged in so tight.
maybe all kids are like this. maybe the need for this kind of closeness and warmth is totally normal, but in her, it has reached a fever pitch, because of how often that need went unmet.
whenever pocketbrit and i meet at the sea, we often have a posse of little ones all around. and there are blankets, and softness, and glowingness, and a fire, and warm drinks. the winter and cold and raging sea are all out, and we are tucked safely in. warmth means safety. warmth means love. warmth means belonging, and togetherness, and holds the promise of being okay. it’s the best bit, that. belonging and togetherness and the sense of possibility that we will be okay. i wouldn’t be without it.