I was lying on my bed, lost in thought, as I mentally reviewed earlier exchanges I’d had with a cousin and the boy in two separate disagreements. I’m not nearly as thin-skinned as I used to be, and in fact, I’ve grown rather proud of my tolerance for being disliked.
(In spite of my armour, I always find it unsettling when people resort to barbs or the casting of aspersions to illustrate/disguise their point. I don’t fight dirty – mainly because I don’t like having to take back something I’ve said; It seems like a waste of words…And really, if I utter it, it’s more likely true than not.)
Uncomfortable, I rolled slightly to my right to alleviate pressure on my back. The motion caused a wee point to appear below the surface of my abdomen. Foot? Knee? Elbow? I wasn’t quite sure. I returned to centre, and pulled myself into a seated position.
The point appeared again, and I realized it was a hand. I watched it trace an arc across my stomach, and followed it with my finger. I felt tears forming and let them fall. I was suddenly moved by the timing of it all, as if my little one was reaching out to me to remind me that she loved me, regardless of what anyone else thought of me at that very moment.
I love her right back.