Since my child was born, I think I must have given him about five million kisses. (The first three million were probably in the first year alone, when he was snuggled right on my chest in a baby carrier.)
On the eighth day of Christmas, my mama gave to me
Eight mommy kisses
Seven mini-marshmallows (in hot chocolate)
Six hours of "just-us" time
Five awesome books
Four favorite friends
Three love notes
Two chocolates
And a special cookie just for me
Today, my impossibly-tall third grader, like many other boys his age, regards kisses from mom as something to tolerate. So I reserve my kisses for when he wants them, like at bedtime when he still wants me to snuggle next to him for a few minutes.
I know that this phase, like babyhood, will also not last much longer. So, with the acute, sweetly-sad awareness of the temporary nature of his little-boyhood, and his all-too-rapid approach toward adolescence and beyond, I am giving my child eight kisses on this eighth day of Christmas (and more if he'll let me!).
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