Lost and Found

I stumble upon lost pacifiers more often than I ever imagined I would. The hastiness of a dropped pacifier provokes immediate heartache. 

Objects of inherent sadness. 

Discarded. Rejected. Neglected. Dropped. Tossed aside. Thrown. Lost. 

Small but powerful. Rubber vessels. They hold stories. Stories of Comfort. Stories of loss. Stories of learning. 

Our first accessories for self-soothing. Perhaps even our first fashion statement - mommy’s lil man. Similarly gendered in a nauseating way.

Stand-ins for a body. A mother’s body. 

Discarded. Rejected. Neglected. Dropped. Tossed aside. Thrown. Lost.

Replicating comfort through touch. 

I always wonder if it feels the same? Do they notice the difference?

I find motherhood to be a constant struggle between intimacy and letting go. 

I oscillate with abandon. Hour to hour, minute to minute. 

I grieve for their fleeing smallness but yearn for them to need me less.

Unlatched. 

But not yet discarded.