I cannot stop kissing my kids. I do it all the time: When I wake them, when I pick them up from the car seat, when I wipe their mouths after a meal, when we're on the floor playing, when they do something I think is cute (which is approximately every four minutes). Kisses on the lips, the cheeks, their hair, their limbs. When they were babies, I used to literally kiss their chubby butts.
Kiss-iness runs in the family; Max planted one on his new baby sis whenever he had the chance.
The only better thing than giving kisses is, of course, getting them. Max is always ready and willing. He is all about these open-mouthed, slurpy kisses that linger on your cheek for a good five minutes if you don't wipe them away, which I never do. That first week after he was born, when he was in the NICU and not allowed out of the incubator, I'd lean down to stare at him and leave lip prints on the plastic. Who knows, maybe I am making up for lost time. Sabrina is stingy with her kisses; I practically have to beg her for them. She doles them out as if she were rationing bread to the starving masses.
How kissy are you with your kids?
9 minutes ago