Sensitive Spots

In spite of being majorly annoyed at the moment, I had an epiphany the other day. But first, let me digress.
I have a thing about my neck. Call it a phobia. Call it a byproduct of too much martial training. I hate, and I mean hate to have my neck touched, grabbed, handled etc. Especially the front part. My shoulders scrunch up and become knotty, like the oak that broke our wood splitter when I was young. My best friend grabbed me around the neck and put me in a head lock once, to see what my response would be, she said. I hit her in the stomach before I knew what I was doing. It’s not a moment I’m proud of. But I panicked.

Back to the present. Bean has this thing with my face and neck. She must touch, massage, rub, and otherwise have one or both hands in contact with that part of my body whenever she’s trying to go to sleep. Her most recent fetish is with a mole on my lower jaw where it meets my neck. It drives me nuts. But trying to take away her comfort zone, her “happy place” as her dad calls it, makes her extremely upset.

And it occurred to me yesterday, as I was putting her to sleep, that this is where our kids live. In those soft, vulnerable places that we don’t let the rest of the world touch. They will bring our best and our worst. They will embarrass and worry us like no one else can. And no matter how hard you may try to defend yourself and keep them out of those places, they will inevitably snuggle, wiggle, and smile their way into that sensitive spot (which makes it hard to maintain your cool when they are pushing your buttons). But I realize now, with a sigh and a smile, that this is where their supposed to live.