Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Help for moms who kiss their kids too much (actually, no help, but perhaps you can relate)
Last night, Dave was tucking Max into bed and I heard Max giggling. I poked my head in. Dave had showed him how to nose kiss, and Max thought it was a laugh riot. "Ohmmmy!" Max said, and I leaned over and rubbed noses with him. And then, I kissed his cheek again and again and again until Dave was all, "Hey! My turn!"
I am greedy about kissing the kids; I can never get enough. This I inherited from my mom, who was always kissing me and my sister. I once discussed the habit with an office friend. "I basically make out with my kids!" she said, and I knew exactly what she meant. I will kiss the kids at any given opportunity: when they're on the couch watching TV, when they're buckled into the car, when we're at the mall riding the elevator, when they're sleeping. (Yes, I do.) (And if you call me creepy, I'm going to kiss you right on the lips.)
Sometimes the kids kiss back, sometimes they sit there glued to Good Luck Charlie because, whatever, it's just another spurt of mommy kisses. I don't believe there are any intervention programs for moms who kiss too much, although I suspect my children might start one someday. Back when they were babies, I'd literally nibble on their chubalicious limbs. I no longer do that, mercifully for them, since there's very little chub left. Excluding Sabrina's hands, which still have pudge and dimpled knuckles and are too delicious to resist.
Perhaps I'm making up for being away at work all day, where there is nobody I'd particularly like to kiss although they are lovely people. I'm still so grateful for Max's kisses, because it took a long time for him to learn how. He favors the open-mouthed, slurpy kind, sometimes planted on my stomach, sometimes on my cheek.
Max particularly likes to give kisses when he breaks something in the house, because he figures if he makes me melt I won't get upset. He is right. I like to tease him that I am going to pour ketchup all over him and eat him up (he considers ketchup a food group), but then he wisely points out that I should save the ketchup for his mac 'n cheese and I oblige.
With Sabrina, I'm catching up on lost time because as a tot she was stingy with her kisses. In fact, one of her first phrases was "NO TISSES!" I had to practically beg for a good-night kiss. Now, she calls me back into her room for more after I leave. I tell her that I'm aiming to kiss every single one of her freckles, which bloom during the summer. Sometimes, we play a kissing game in which we have to guess the type of kiss: vacuum kiss, ice-skating kiss, woodpecker kiss.
Too much of anything—carbs, sunbathing, reality TV—is never a good thing. But kisses? I think I get a free pass. Max and Sabrina are getting older, and there's going to come a time when they will be over me and my kiss-y ways. Until that day, I am cramming in those kisses.