Sitting holding little R, staring into his eyes, and noticing the change from the flat unconnected stare to the bright mischevious grinning boy he is now, I finally put things together.

The anorexia has always been about connection for me. Trying desperately to find that ‘mother’ figure to find the connection I did not have with my own. I always remember, there was only one picture of my mother holding me as a baby. She glared somewhere off into the distance, the distain barely hidden. In contrast the similar picture of her holding my brother, shows a bright interested smile.

I don’t think my mother held (except to feed) or looked at me directly all of my life. So right from the start I am missing that important connection with someone. I never knew that feeling. I can approximate it from the otherside with R, but still it is not there…

And I know that’s what the anorexia was. A way to force action from other people, a way to force myself into situations where care would have to be given–where I’d be fed like a baby, treated with that fragile care, and loved back into this world.

Only it never happened.

But… I think I can get some of that feeling from others. Barbara brought more stuff over today… two strollers (fancy ones!) and one with a carseat that goes on it and one carseat just for the car. I can’t believe it. She told me to call her this week–over thanksgiving really, on her cell as she’ll be at “the mountain house”. I took R to see her last week and she held him while I drank tea and we cooed over him. She couldn’t believe how bonded he was already–and I think that’s what made me think about this more. Erna came to say hi too, and she asked if I worked at the Y. “No,” Barbara said, “She’s one of mine.”

For some reason that made me smile real big inside.

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