Kiss

I don’t think I’ve really understood the magically powers of a kiss. At the risk of sounding slutty, I’ve had my share of kisses in life. I can still remember my first kiss and how terrifying and awkward it was. I can recall my first “true love” kiss and how my entire body seemed to tingle. Then of course there was “The Kiss”, the one I shared with my husband when we were pronounced husband and wife. That kiss has been the most phenomenal one to date, but I suppose it’s the kisses I receive from a three foot little boy who calls me “mama” that really just sets my entire body on edge.

Kisses with my husband have always been wonderful. They’ve been passionate and powerful, sweet and doting, and even angry. Kisses with Davey can basically be summed up as little gifts from heaven, far greater than what I’ve ever experienced before. A kiss, to a child, means something much more than what it ever could mean to an adult.

I love how he randomly walks over to me and says, “kiss, mama”, while closing his eyes and puckering up. When he falls, he runs over to me, and with his crocodile tears, says, “kiss, mama.” He holds up wherever his boo boo may be and once it’s been kissed, I get an “all better, mama”.

Each morning, when he wakes he has to offer up a kiss, not just to me and his daddy, but also to our dog, Dixie. It’s endearing and melts my heart. To him, a kiss fixes everything and just makes the whole world better. Too bad that’s really not true. If a simple kiss could fix the problems of this world, then imagine the possibilities. To my baby, it IS as simple as that.

A kiss heals a boo boo or scrape. A kiss starts the morning out right. A kiss makes it easier to sleep at night. A kiss before leaving says, “be safe”. A kiss in the middle of the day says, “just because.” A kiss is the most phenomenal gift given especially when it comes from your child.

I count my blessings every day. I’m fortunate and blessed to have the opportunity to experience this little treasure. As a matter of fact, kisses from Davey have even influenced the kisses my husband and I share with each other. We’re a little bit slower about it, a little bit more deliberate, and actually realize the true meaning behind our kisses. I thank my son for that.

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And if it’s a Girl…

Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice.

I’m not so sure about that, after all I am a girl and while that may be quite the cute little poem, little girls aren’t necessarily made up of everything nice. Ok, well, they may start out that way.

Yesterday, my husband and I were pontificating about if we had a little girl. I don’t know that my husband really has an opinion or a vision as to what our daughter may or may not be, but mine’s pretty strong especially considering how lately my parents enjoy telling stories about me.

I admit it, I have this innate fear that my daughter will turn out to be the exact replica of me, perhaps ten times worse. I can only pray she’s my opposite, at least in personality, because the looks department doesn’t worry me quite so much. You’ve seen pictures of Davey, after all, he’s quite the handsome little kid.

Will she be as manipulative as me? I was the type, especially as a teenager, who found ways to play my parents against each other. I quickly learned out who to go to and when, in order to get what I wanted and in most cases, if I timed it right my parents were completely oblivious to my shenanigans. Suppose I’ll be smarter than that, especially since I know the tricks? Maybe.

I knew my daddy’s strengths and weaknesses. I played on the fact that he called me his “gal”. I called him “daddy” in my sweet, Southern girl voice and it would melt my daddy especially if I needed money. I could get almost any amount I wanted out of him. As for the dating and curfew? Forget that! I didn’t stand a chance with him.

As for my mother, one would think since she grew up with most anything she wanted, she would be free with giving out things. Not the case. She would; however, let me have a later curfew and smooth things over with Daddy when I wanted to start dating, which by the way wasn’t allowed until I was 16. So, I would go to one for the money and then the other for the later curfew. It was easy.

What wasn’t easy was my teenage years. I was awkward and yet eager to fit in. I was a highly intelligent kid, but I didn’t put forth the effort in school because I was more interested in finding ways to fit in with the popular crowd or to hang out with my friends. Looking back, I certainly regret that. I wished I’d been more focused on my schoolwork. Perhaps my husband and I still wouldn’t be paying back my student loans if that were the case!

But, if it’s a girl, which we find out on Wednesday, I know I will love her all the same. Admittedly, I’m terrified at the prospect of raising a daughter. I LOATHE the color pink. I hate tutus and bows. The poor girl will likely have “bowl” cuts her entire life, since I’m not exactly capable of styling hair. I won’t be able to take her to her version of New Kids on the Block concerts because I’m not able to handle the screaming hormones now, I definitely won’t be able to when I’m 53. And then there’s the whole “dating” fiasco as she becomes older. It terrifies the #$@^ out of me!

It will all work out in the end, I know it will. But, pray for me (well, more so for my husband!), if we have a little girl just like me. It may be the end of the world as we know it.