Mother Child As we lay in bed snuggled up and twisted around, he gently caresses my chin with a hand twice the size it once was. His innocent eyes gaze into mine as they did from beneath my breast a few years ago. I rub his aching belly and wonder if it feels as warm and tender as Mom's touch. The child inside me smiles. Suddenly she feels the nurturing touch of her loving parent. I recall how Mom used to scratch my back at night - I was the one who liked it harder than a tickle. And she'd always try to get away too soon. Or as I'd drift off to sleep, she'd wake me up by saying, 'good night'. I can feel it now as he cuddles closer, his toes wriggling up my leg. I am the mother and the child. Nurtured and nurturing. Loved and loving. Cared for and caring. My inner child leaps with joy elated to be seen, heard, remembered. Sharing this time with the outer kid isn't so terrible. There's enough for both of you. Enough for all of us.
Caryn Fogel's Questions:
Is the title too simple? If you can come up with something better feel
Are the transitions smooth and clear where the writer is the parent, then child, then the parent again? Or is it confusing?
Is the reference to 'inner child' trite or trendy?
Does the piece lack focus, or could something be omitted to keep the focus?