Rob and I are sitting on the bed, and Westley is standing between us. He puts one hand on my shoulder and one hand on Rob's, and pushes us toward each other. "Mama, Dada. Keet." He tells us. When we lean in and kiss each other, Westley giggles.
Playground balcony scene
It used to be that if Rob just looked at me too long, Westley would butt in between us, swinging his arms and telling Rob to "moo, moo!" (move). Now, Mommy-Daddy affection is all right, as long as it's been pre-approved by Westley. As long as we have the "keet" green light, it's all good. This seems to have coincided with Westley himself figuring out how to kiss.
Westley has always loved to kiss me. He used to close his eyes and open his mouth and make "aaahhmmmm" noises against my cheek or lips or nose. For a while, he would pucker up his lips and kind of set them on my lips, without really kissing, per se. Now, he puckers up like an old pro, and gives a nice little mwuh-kiss. It's so sweet, it makes my heart want to explode a little.
This afternoon, as I was cleaning up after the lunch-splosion in the kitchen, I heard one of those tell-tale toddler thuds. I looked over to see Westley sitting, fussing, clearly having hurt his finger on something. (I'm still not really sure what he did. I imagine he was trying to climb up the side of the armchair and slipped, bumping his hand and landing on his butt. But I honestly have no idea.) "Hut!" he told me, his brow furrowed, his lower lip sticking out like a little shelf.
"Yeah, that hurt," I said. "Are you okay?"
He held his finger out to me. "Keet."
It took me a minute to figure out what he was saying. "You want me to kiss it?"
I kissed his tiny finger, suddenly surprised by its smallness, right on the place I guessed hurt. He giggled. I held his little hand--with the dimples instead of knuckles on the back--for a second before giving it back to him. He ran off to play, happy again. All better.
I don't think I've kissed an injury of Westley's before. He's certainly never asked me to. I wondered for a minute where he got the idea that kisses take the hurt away. But when I think about that notion as an adult, it makes complete sense to me somehow: of course you can kiss it and make it better. Duh! That's what kisses are for!
Maybe this is of those things that children just know, even if no one tells them. Kisses take the hurt away. Kisses are magic.