A few months ago a friend of mine was holding my son in her arms and she said, “babies are so sensual.” The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think what she said was true. Babies are sensual. They love being held, hugged and kissed. They love being tickled. They love baths, and pools and beaches–the water, the sun and the sand. They love to roll around and wrestle on the couch, the rug, the grass. Like dolphins, they seem to enjoy the feel of life.
Recently the company my wife works for had an office party. It was a casual affair with a buffet table, an open bar and a small band. Children were invited so I brought our son Eddie. He’s three. My wife introduced my son and me to her boss and I was a little surprised when the guy swept Eddie up, gave him a hug, inhaled deeply and said, “Ah, they smell delicious at his age.” He went on to say that he had two young children himself.
I may be a sensitive guy but I was a little taken aback by the demonstrative actions of my wife’s boss. Not that I actually went as far as to actually communicate to him how I was feeling at the time. If I had, I might have said, “Hey it’s okay for me to be affectionate with my son, but you don’t even know him so knock it off.” At the same time, I could empathize with his impulse. I can certainly understand why anyone would want to show Eddie affection. He’s a typical toddler with baby fine hair, sparkling eyes, and an irresistible smile.
My wife works for an architectural firm while I teach at a small liberal arts college. She took a few months off when Eddie was born and then she returned to work full time. Because my schedule is flexible, I am the one who brings Eddie to day care, picks him up after school, takes him to the park and then home for dinner and a bath. He’s a picky eater–toast, soup, raviolis and tomato sauce. He gets whatever he eats all over himself and we wash it off in the bath. By the time my wife arrives, at around six, Eddie’s fresh and clean. She plays with him while I make our dinner. We eat and then, on alternate nights, one of us reads to Eddie, gives him a bottle of milk and puts him to bed.
This routine is fine with me, but I was not prepared for the physical closeness that comes so naturally to children. The way they like to sit on your lap or lean against you when you read to them. The way they like to hold hands when walking. The way they like to cuddle. When I was growing up my father worked overtime and Saturdays to save money for a house and to support his wife and four kids. I don’t remember his being around that much. It was my mother who stayed home with my sisters, my brother and me. She was the affectionate one. These days my father is a little sentimental–he likes an occasional hug. And my wife’s father, whom I see a few times a year, arrives and leaves with a bear hug. I don’t feel entirely comfortable with these hugs–they feel a bit awkward.
Maybe it’s cultural. My father’s side of the family is English and the English are famous for not showing their emotions. My mother’s side is Irish. The Irish are famous for being sentimental, but even the Irish are a bit stand-offish.
Yet, I find myself hugging my son after his bath. At such times his hair smells like freshly cut grass. He takes my face in his hands, gives me a kiss, smiles and says, “Thanks daddy.” I get him dressed for bed and then we play and wrestle on the floor in his room.
I am lucky. Unlike my father, I get to feed my son, change him, read to him, bathe him, and play with him. We go to the zoo where he feeds the animals. We ride to the playground on my bike and he goes on the swing and down the slide. Back at home I fill up his bath, he climbs in and wiggles around like an otter. At the same time I wonder: when will the awkwardness begin? When will he draw back? When will he shun being hugged? And when will I begin to feel it is no longer appropriate to hug, embrace, kiss?
Not for a few years. I give him a horsy ride around the living room rug. (Off the rug is too painful for the knees.) We wrestle for a few minutes and tickle one another. He curls up into a ball–ticklish all over. After that it’s time to read books. He picks out three. I sit on the couch and he climbs on my lap, hands me the books, makes himself comfortable and says, “Read, daddy.”
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