A Quiet Radio,
A Dim-Lit Room
You lay on me and I am your shiny rock
in a world of small pebbles
and I am glad for my chin
just touching your hair
just resting, your head
and I am glad for my scent
just breathing you in
just smelling milk and oil and skin.
You lay on me
koala bear aptitude
pink-cream kid-glove hands
and I am warmed by your body
I am restful in your molding of my shiny-rock body
and I am calmed by your nuzzle and your sigh.
You lay on me
and I wish I could move my head
just to see your sleeping face.
“My patience, resolutions and beliefs are tested to the limits – sometimes daily.”*
Right at this moment one of my challenges is the constant, tuneless whistling from my elder son. When my boys were babies it was getting them to sleep or trying to figure out why they were crying. On any given day now, it might be squabbling, fighting, teasing, screaming, shouting or rudeness. Who’d be a parent? We might well question ourselves after the event, but we can’t very well put them back! Just how we find those inner resources, how we constantly demand more of ourselves, how we keep marching up that hill with a smile on our face and gladness in our heart at the sight of our ‘babies’ is one of life’s mysteries.
* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007