Edith sometimes sucks on her arm so hard and for so long that she gives herself a painful-looking hickey and it bothers me so much. I hate to see her hurting that little arm. I kind of understand now why some people get so upset when their children get tattoos or piercings — every inch of Edith’s tiny body is sacred to me, and the idea that she will one day treat it with indifference or even hostility is hard to wrap my mind around. But she will! It’s her body, it’s not my body, and while I hope she loves herself and loves her body, there’s no possible way that she will ever love herself as much as I love her. And she will probably go through periods of self-loathing (unless she turns out to be the most well-adjusted person I have ever met, which, here’s hoping).
Although I haven’t experienced it yet, it must be such a painful sort of helpless sadness, to see something that isn’t yours but yet is the most precious, perfect thing in the world to you mistreated by its owner.
I won’t get in her business about it, though.
Accismus 