CREEPY MOM'S GUIDE TO ECSTASY

EVERY MOM KNOWS HOW SWEET THOSE SQUISHY MARSHMALLOW KISSES FROM A TODDLER TASTE.

I keep squatting down to his eye level and approaching his face with my own. Lately though, I’ve been getting slammed. He puts his arm up to block my kisses. He turns the other way and smiles playfully, like it’s a facial game of tag.

He knows I really want this kiss. This sweetness.

Or, he gives me nothing more than a nonchalant no-attention-response, especially when he’s too consumed in the toddler learning video he’s watching. I don’t care though. I keep putting my face into his, until he does his version of a bitch slap to move my head away from in front of his sweet face so that he can get back to his screen. It’s bittersweet, but I even like that. 

Then, I wait until he’s deep sleeping during a nap or at night to do my other truly favorite thing. I approach with my face, pointedly by my nose, and carefully settle with my face onto the pillow next to his head. Positioning is imperative. I park the openings of my nose right beneath the openings of his tiny nose . . . nose tips in a gentle kiss now. 

I listen, feel, and wait—for him to exhale. At which instant I take my inhale, as if to suck in every bit of air that was just released from him. Like an inverse-CPR breath that I sneak-take from this innocent, unpresuming babe of mine.

Oooooh, it tastes so sweet. So soft. That a single inhalation can have the texture of those miniature marshmallows that are half-melting in your warm cup of cocoa, but all organically made and way, way better. In air.

His breaths are much shorter than mine, so I can only take a couple at a time, then I have to pace myself by facing the other way to exhale my own breath.

Creep! I say to myself. 

I know. And that’s the awesome thing about creeps—creeps don’t care about being creeps.

Just saying, in any given moment, reaching for and discovering the next little thing that makes you feel good can be very very near. 

In fact, it has to be—because on those days when I am feeling down, reaching for happiness seems to be an all-too-tall order that just comes across as daunting. Daunting and heavy. And then I start to feel worse about my inability to get there.

So, I try not to go there. 

I aim to catch myself early in those downward spiraling moments. Those are the moments when it really counts to remember where I started from: Let me just be grateful to be alive, grateful that we have a home we love that keeps us comfortable, that we have loved ones and those who love us; and that we are capable of loving so well. 

And, no, there is no shortage of utterly tasty mini-love moments sprinkled all around us. Finding the next little feel good thing—can be very, very near.