Recently, I saw the loveliest pair of small, bright pink pigs flying over my house. What could possibly warrant the occasion for such a thrilling sight?
Chocolate no longer excites me.
But please, before you judge me, before you rule me out as a friend, before you click off to another blog, let me explain myself. It seems I have actually eaten so much chocolate, on such a regular basis, that it doesn't do for me what it once could do. It's become so regular in my diet, I relate to it much the same way I relate to bread. No longer does it tempt me, delight me, fulfill me in all kinds of ways. It has become, quite simply, another food group.
The only other times in my life when chocolate has been relegated to such a lowly status? When falling in love. Love, especially the wickedly whimsical part where you fall, satisfies as deeply as chocolate. Or maybe I should say, it churns up the same inner waves of lustful desire. Inside of that falling, nothing fills your hunger but your beloved. You long to see that one face, the only face. You wake up in the middle of the night, it is your first thought. To be near the beloved is to change the whole chemical make-up of the body. Heart pounds, heart aches, just to be close enough to smell someone, enchanted, of course, by their mere existence. Let alone the unsurpassed moment where skin touches skin, lips to lips.
Mother-love is not unlike romantic love. An urgent, earnest longing to be in the company of one's children, longing for them when you are away, the feeling of fullness, wholeness, completion that comes at the sight of their perfect, unbearably beautiful faces. In fact, nothing but that kind of love can make things appear so effortlessly beautiful. I am lucky to know this love. (Though it comes with it's own cost--as does romantic love, of course. In the case of mother-love, guilt and impassioned worry are only two of the negative side-effects.)
Still, I eat chocolate.
But the thrill is gone. Perhaps I am in love.
Or, perhaps, I have simply eaten too much of a good thing.
"Mother-love is not unlike romantic love. An urgent, earnest longing to be in the company of one's children, longing for them when you are away, the feeling of fullness, wholeness, completion that comes at the sight of their perfect, unbearably beautiful faces."
ReplyDeleteUmm, yeah - I get that about once a week. It lasts until he dumps out the cat food, or hits me, or start stomping his feet and whining "COOKIE!"
Chocolate is a more constantly pleasant companion. :)
Oh, we never have troubles like that over here....
ReplyDeleteActually, that's part of the reason I HAVE to eat cookie dough on a regular basis.