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Sometimes when you pick up your child you can feel the map of your own bones beneath your hands, or smell the scent of your skin in the nape of his neck. this is the most extraordinary thing about motherhood - finding a piece of yourself separate and apart that all the same you could not live without.

-Jodi Picoult

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Sometimes When You Pick Up Your Child

Jodi Picoult

Sometimes when you pick up your child you can feel the map of your own bones beneath your hands, or smell the scent of your skin in the nape of his neck. this is the most extraordinary thing about motherhood - finding a piece of yourself separate and apart that all the same you could not live without.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"sometimes when you pick up your child you can feel the map of your own bones beneath your hands, or smell the scent of your skin in the nape of his neck. this is the most extraordinary thing about motherhood - finding a piece of yourself separate and apart that all the same you could not live without."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Jodi Picoult</footer>
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Children Pregnancy Motherhood

More From Jodi Picoult

When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" winterfell, she might have said. i smell snow and smoke and pine needles. i smell the stables. i smell hodor laughing, and jon and robb battling in the yard, and sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. i smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. i smell hot bread baking. i smell the godswood. i smell my wolf. i smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "i don't smell anything," she said.

Theology is like a map. merely learning and thinking about the christian doctrines, if you stop there, is less real and less exciting than the sort of thing my friend got in the desert. doctrines are not god: they are only a kind of map. but that map is based on the experience of hundreds of people who really were in touch with god--experiences compared with which many thrills of pious feelings you and i are likely to get on our own are very elementary and very confused. and secondly, if you want to get any further you must use the map.

Everything that comes together falls apart. everything. the chair i’m sitting on. it was built, and so it will fall apart. i’m gonna fall apart, probably before this chair. and you’re gonna fall apart. the cells and organs and systems that make you you—they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart. the buddha knew one thing science didn’t prove for millennia after his death: entropy increases. things fall apart.

I wanted him. i arched my back, fully aware of how vulnerable that made me and that i was giving him an invitation. he accepted it and laid me back against the table, bringing his body down on top of mine. that crushing kiss of his moved from my mouth to the nape of my neck. he pushed down the edge of my dress and the bra strap underneath, exposing my shoulder and giving his lips more skin to conquer.

Her father had taught her about hands. about a dog's paws. whenever her father was alone with a dog in a house he would lean over and smell the skin at the base of its paw. this, he would say, as if coming away from a brandy snifter, is the greatest smell in the world! a bouquet! great rumours of travel! she would pretend disgust, but the dog's paw was a wonder: the smell of it never suggested dirt. it's a cathedral! her father had said, so-and-so's garden, that field of grasses, a walk through cyclamen--a concentration of hints of all the paths the animal had taken during the day.

At 13 years old, i realized i could start my own band. i could write my own song, i could record my own record. i could start my own label. i could release my own record. i could book my own shows. i could write and publish my own fanzine. i could silk-screen my own t-shirt. i could do this all myself.

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