She entwines her chubby arms around my neck. I feel her warm, sweet breath on my cheek as she gives me a squelchy kiss. She giggles. I enfold her wriggly body in a tight embrace and, just for a moment, we are both still, wrapped in each other’s love.
That little wriggly, warm body grew.
Gemma-Rose says, “Can I please have a hug, Mum?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Can I sit on your lap?”
My youngest daughter entwines her long arms around my neck. I enfold her in mine. I breathe in the sweet smell of her long blonde hair. Just for a moment, we are both still, wrapped in each other's love.
Then I say, “I remember when you used to fit on my lap."
“I still fit on your lap!” my eleven-year-old daughter declares.
I smile. It’s true.
“Will you still sit on my lap when you’re an adult?” I ask.
We have a print of a drawing by Leonardo da Vinci. It shows an adult Mary sitting on her mother’s knee. If Mary can sit on St Anne’s knee, surely Gemma-Rose can sit on mine, however old she gets?
I still sit on my Mother’s knee. I climb onto her lap and she tucks me safely beneath her mantle into that special place of love.
“What if you grow bigger than me?” I ask Gemma-Rose. “What if you get too heavy for my lap?”
“Then you can sit on top of me!”
Do mothers sit on daughters’ laps? Is that a strange idea?
Do laps ever grow too small? Do we ever grow too big? Will children always want to hide under the mantle of their mother's love?
When was the last time you sat on your Mother's knee?