“This is hard,” she says, pushing on her ribs.
“Yeah, ribs are hard, because they’re bones. All bones are hard,” I say and I start doing some general strokes on her legs.
“Let’s look for more bones,” she says eagerly.
“Here’s a bone ... and here’s one,” she says, while scanning her body.
“This is not a bone, mom, this is not hard,” while she presses into her tummy.
“Look, this is a special bone,” I say while gently moving her knee cap, “this bone can move.”
“Yeah! Wow!” She’s amazed by her new discovery.
“Let’s see if you have bones,” she says, while she starts scanning my arms and face. “Here’s one,” she says, “and this is a big one” while she touches my forehead. “Yeah, you’ve got bones too!” she says, amazed by another discovery.
“Can I massage you, mom?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say, “Let’s do a couple of minutes and then it’s bedtime.”
“Okay,” she agrees. She takes some cream out of the jar and puts it on my arm. She starts rubbing my arm with her two hands. “I need more cream,” she says.
“No, you’ve got enough,” I say, looking at my white, creamy arm. I need to be aware that “massaging mommy” very easily turns into “putting a lot of cream on mommy.”
“Do you want me to do your favorite?” she asks.
“Yes, I would love to,” I say, and she starts tickling my arm.
“Ok, I’m done,” she says after a couple of minutes.
“Ok, thank you for the massage,” I say and give her a kiss. “You’re welcome,” she says and gets into bed.
After we’ve said goodnight, she falls asleep within a couple of minutes. It’s now 7:15 p.m. and the start of a peaceful evening and night.
By Martine Groeneveld Mom, Massage Therapist, RN
