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When they were little there was so much of it—the touching. Too much. Skin on skin in the bed, in the bath, on the beach. Their sticky, gritty little legs wrapped around my torso every second, their popsicle hands in my hair. I loved it. IWhen they were little there was so much of it—the touching. Too much. Skin on skin in the bed, in the bath, on the beach. Their sticky, gritty little legs wrapped around my torso every second, their popsicle hands in my hair. I loved it. I leaned my face down to inhale their scalps and foreheads. But what I wouldn’t have given to plant a flag on myself—to claim a single square inch of my own flesh....more