Touching her was like taking a drug.

~ Live & Learn

From the moment Ally was born, pushed out of Sam’s body (nothing could be more common than motherhood and yet nothing about it could ever be banal), Ally became Sam’s sun, Sam’s primary concern. She felt a directedness and a purpose and a meaning she had never experienced before. Another way of putting it: it was the least fake feeling she had ever had, the most earnest. Did all mothers feel this way? Did fathers feel this way? No, yes, doesn’t matter. On some level, it was Ally and then there was every other human on the earth. At first it was physical. The need to hold and feed and comfort. That was the best part of being a mother, answering that need. It was so simple and complete. Sure, there were times Sam longed for sleep, times she felt positively enslaved, but all it took was the head on her chest, the hand clutching at her, Sam’s own hand supporting the plump, perfect back. Touching her was like taking a drug. The back, the foot, the leg, the little arm; the lips, the ears, the toes, the perfect tiny nose. The thighs, the dimpled knees, the lines of fat at the wrists, the tapered, padded fingers with the tiny oval of a nail. Look at her. The eyes, well, they were the same always, the same today. Large, heavy lidded, dark brown, wide-set, extravagantly lashed. What a beauty she was and is. Even at the height of her adolescent awkwardness, Sam had found her profoundly, significantly beautiful. Was it “true”? Did others see her the way Sam did? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Sam had felt this abiding love for sixteen years, and it was the best thing she had ever felt or would ever feel.

— Dana Spiotta, Wayward: A Novel (Knopf, July 6, 2021)

Notes:

28 thoughts on “Touching her was like taking a drug.”

  6. Oh, Wow, David, This is exceptionally moving, beautiful and true. This must be about your daughter’s birthday. Tears brimming… this unconditional, immense, profound love is a forever love….speaking from experience. Rachel is fortunate to have you, David, as her Father. ❤️

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  10. Happy birthday to your Rachel.
    You know, I always say in my next life, I’m not having kids… then I read something like this and realise that dammit… I am a mother.

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  11. Happy Belated Birthday to your Rachel.! Our dear daughter’s birthday was Friday! are blessed to be parents…She is an only child. We told her how we would sit next to her crib and watch her sleep, her chest moving ever so slightly & knowing that “Each Breath Is A Gift”

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  14. Re: my earlier comment …Our daughter was a preemie…A miracle, for I was told that she was a non-viable fetus, over the phone, home alone…I of course told the female Doctor she isn’t a fetus she is our baby and I’ve life a life and You Are To Do Everything You Can To Save The Baby…don’t be concerned with me…you are not listening to me you have a non viable fetus…I’m sorry…and that they didn’t know if they could Save Me…Get to the Hospital Now…So I understand that ,” Each Gift of Breath” is a bit sweeter…

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