Today I’m doing a little exercise that I remember seeing on a blog years ago called “Just Write” – where you sit down and just write something without stopping, without correcting yourself and just seeing what comes out. I decided to do that today to try and get some writing practice. This is the result.
I have a lot of moles. Some are small. Some are large. I’ve even had one removed. They’re just part of who I am.
I have one on my shoulder that annoys me. It’s not too large, but it kind of sticks out. My bra rubs on it. If I wear a tank top I need to slather sunscreen like crazy. And, Ollie likes to poke it and go “boop” to it. He tells me when he’s feeling silly “mama, I want to boop your mole.” I tell him to be gentle. He has scratched it and rubbed it raw a few times. Sometimes I think I should just have it removed because it just seems like trouble.
But then there’s this other thing.
When Ollie first wakes up in the morning or from a nap, he needs cuddle time. We sit together and snuggle while he slowly comes out of slumber. While we do, his hands start to wander over the skin of my arm. His eyes are closed, but his fingers search until he finds my mole. He touches it gently. It’s like his way of identifying that yes, this is my mom. I’m ok in these arms. He does it when he’s sad and needs to be comforted. He does it when he’s unsure in a given situation. Touching my mole connects him to me and makes him feel better somehow.
The other night I was laying with him in his bed and talking to him about his day and he said “mama, I love your mole,” as he kind of gently touched it. And my heart soared.
So unless medically necessary, the mole will stay. It’s a connection for the two of us and even if he’s silly about it sometimes, I don’t want to cut that away. It’s not just part of me. It’s part of him. A little boop of love.