Kiss Kiss

I have been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end of some particularly spectacular kisses in my life.

The first of any real significance must have been when I was about 8 and I fell head of heels in love with a boy a whole dizzifying year older than me. Him and his younger brothers would come to our house after school till their mum finished work and the two of us in secret, with me wearing my bridesmaid dress to look more beautiful, would reenact the scenes of many a Disney movie with numerous chaste but passionate kisses. Sometimes for real. ON THE LIPS. I can still feel my skin blushing. We’d quickly get bored and rejoin the boys in favour of wrestling matches (which I would win) and ingenious and complicated games involving dressing up and making maps and me being in charge and generally finding excuses to sit on the middle brother and beat him to a pulp. But still. Significant. 

Then there was rather a lot of kissing between the ages of 15 and 17 that shall remain mysterious and vague… you know who you are (male population of a small Staffordshire town).

Now we get to the good ones.

I have just turned 18 and am being kissed on a bridge under the stars. This was a earth-moving kiss, a life-changing kiss. Shortly afterwards the words “I love you” were uttered for the first time and truly meant and understood. And privately I vowed never to kiss another in my whole life.

Flash forward through gazillions of equally spectacular and earth-moving kisses, and an equal if not greater number of mundane “have a good day” kisses that still manage to make my knees go a little weak. All on the same lovely pair of lips. The lips that smiled and kissed me on our first night in our very first home. The lips that said “I do” on our wedding day and kissed me in front of all our family and friends as I quivered and tried not to cry, feeling like I was going to drop dead of sheer unequivocal joy right there and then. 

  

 I have had unrivalled and privileged access to those lips, and them to mine, for nearly a decade.

Until now.

For now our precious boy, born of those same kisses, has now discovered kissing all for himself.

He puckers up his little lips and leans forward full of all the seriousness and intent of any leading man. Each tender kiss accompanied with a little “mwah” to really seal the deal. Repeatedly kissing daddy is now a new favourite pastime; Ant can barely leave the room for two minutes at a time without being wooed. I don’t get quite as many but seem to have been targeted for the more serious kissing practice in which the baby bear fights to hold my head still and plant repeated, dribbly, open-mouthed and earnest kisses on my surprised lips.

Needless to say Ant and I are enamoured with our little Casanova, taking every opportunity to sneak another one in at every available opportunity. I imagine the novelty will wear off sooner or later, especially if Bad Mommy Moment’s wonderful recent post is anything to go by, but for now, well, we’re loving every wet, perfect smacker.

Who knew one kiss under the stars would lead us here?

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