Oh, the lessons life teaches on the farm. Edie’s little homeschool enrichment group had a reunion of sorts at one her little buddy’s homestead just down the road. Two days prior to the visit one of their pregnant cows (brace yourself; sad stuff) ate something nasty (like metal and pointy nasty) and had to be put down. The brave farmers attempted a cesarean on the mama and were able to rescue the little calf. And here she is. Premature but thriving.
The guys (read: not veterinarians) did the procedure all on their own. Super impressed with their animal husbandry skills. Luckily they had an emergency stash of colostrum on hand and lots of help on hand to provide the sweet baby calf mega doses of love.
A couple of evenings prior some friends and I were chatting over a bottle of chocolate porter beer over the difficult time one of us was having with packing up and moving house. We were chatting about the seemingly unnatural at times attachment we can make to our possessions and the value we place on them.
Someone suggested that because we are children of the seventies we have the tendency to be more inclined to have a more complicated relationship to stuff due to the emergence at the time of a more detached approach to birthing and parenting. I do notice that most people I ask that are around my age were formula fed, slept in cribs and kept away from their moms for long lengths of time immediately after birth in hospitals. The last bit correct me if I’m wrong. I tried asking my mom but she says she can’t remember anything. Hmmm…twilight?
But, as many like to point out, I turned out fine. Like, beyond fine (not to toot my fine horn) but I often wonder (usually while I’m playing with my belly button where my umbilical cord was brutally and prematurely cut off by a doctor’s sharp scissors) what issues of mine I can lay blame on from not having experienced more skin on skin contact as a baby. I by no means had a traumatizing childhood (in the contrary had amazing, loving parents) but I was the typical child of the seventies we were analyzing that chocolatey beer sharing evening.
Could this maybe explain the origin to my addiction to the creamy, body temperature comfort of my morning latte? Why I was always seeking cute boys to cuddle with throughout my twenties? My propensity to wear tight pleather pants even when it’s ridiculously hot out? Hmmm… maybe why I nursed my kids for three years each? And then immediately got a puppy the week after Kale was weaned?
But what become apparent when seeing this little orphaned heifer is that it’s never too late to allow the healing power of touch to work its magic. As soon as I spotted her taking a nap on the cool grass I bolted to her straight away and immediately made my hand like a mama cow tongue. No sandpaper was involved but that probably would have helped.
And I licked and licked just like Daisy did with Meatballs for the first six months of his life. I could have watched her do that all day long (and I get to again next month ~ wheeee!). And talk about instincts. The kids couldn’t take their hands off her too.And then when I started ‘licking’ her bum (hoo boy, imagine the traffic I’m going to pick up from typing that one) she tried her darnedest to stand up. Little love.
We are all hardwired to respond to touch from the very beginning.
This proves to me how simply offering my kids a warm hug to melt into while on the cusp of, or if possible during, a meltdown can be a therapeutic experience to carry them through any sort of growth spurt or pain; now and well into their adulthood.
This reminds me too how frequent strokes of cheeks and playful hair musses throughout the day can be like daily dose of vitamins and minerals for the soul’s strengthening and remembering of what’s truly important; human contact and connection.
It’s never too late to implement these healing modalities and witness the transformative effect they have to the recipient at hand. Perhaps this will even help ease off the somewhat confusing relationship our society has a a whole has with material possession.
To continue the healing today I try to celebrate little life accomplishes by treating myself to a massage by a professional once in a while with no strings attached. And for the opportunity to reciprocate I’ll offer Craig a massage with loads of strings dangling. And then for deep intervention time, when I need a major touch intervention, I pull a shirt on with a real tight neck and then get Craig to hug me immediately after my head pops through. You know. Little things like offer little pockets of mama bliss.
How about you? How do you provide doses of touch-ment parenting to either your kids, partner or sweet baby self? Would love to hear in the comments. Can’t wait to get all touchy feely with you!