We have this large, cozy chair in the living room. It is big enough for me to nurse Persy and have Atticus sit beside me. Since we purchased the chair in January of 2013 it has been dubbed “the cuddle seat.”
Whenever Atticus is sad or tired or angry or just wanting to hang out he asks to “cuddle for a little while on the cuddle seat.” We do love our cuddles around here.
For the past few weeks Atticus has exclaimed that he wants to cuddle because I am “the best squishiest mommy.” He giggles, jumps up and down, hops in my lap, throws his arms around me and buries into my arms, chest, stomach, or legs.
Last night we were sitting in the cuddle seat and Atticus was draped across my legs and watching “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” He started squishing and squeezing my legs. He said, “you are the best squishiest mommy. You have big squishy legs, and tummy, and arms. I love you squishy mommy. You are warm and soft and cuddly.”
I teared up while I sat holding him. This sweet, beautiful boy loves me so much. My body isn’t fat or too dimpled or grotesque or cumbersome. All the parts of my body that I hate so very much because they are large and squishy mean so much to Atticus. To Atticus my body makes him feel safe, warm, comfortable, and loved.He isn’t embarrassed by me, he wouldn’t want any other mommy but this big, squishy one.
This little guy has completely changed how I view myself. I’m not a sloppy, worn-out, fat mom. No; I am the embodiment of love, warmth, and security.
I’ve never been so happy and proud to be squishy.