I am not crazy about being touched. It's something I have to work my way up to and something that I need to be prepared for.
It feels like an invasion, an assault upon my person and I have to know who is behind me at all times.
As you may have guessed this particular problem is exacerbated when you have a preschooler. Especially when your preschooler is particularly aggressive in her affection. Her needs to climb on me, touch me, grab me, hang on me are sometimes so overwhelming that I need to walk away, just to calm my nerves.
When she was a baby, I touched her all of the time. I loved skin to skin contact with her because I knew the benefits that it would have for her and because it felt like yet another sacrifice that I was making for her future well-being.
Lately, however, I yearn for my personal space. I yearn to be able to sleep in my bed, unencumbered by flailing legs, fingers that entwine in my hair, elbows that leave tiny bruises on my back and abdomen, touching only if I want to be touched.
Eighteen years with the Hubs has made him knowledgeable about the small signs and body language that let him know that I am okay with being touched. And sometimes he still gets it wrong.
I know that my reactions are based off of the abuse that I experienced as a child and I am so grateful that my daughter does not demonstrate any of those characteristics. I love that she is so loving that she is so free with her kisses and hugs.
I just hope that when she grabs a hold of me and I am caught of guard, that she does not see that inside I am grimacing, tensing, even recoiling from her touch. I would hate for her to misread my personal issues as not loving her.
That will never be the case.