"Mommy Kisses"

We are right smack dab in that cute stage when kisses can keep a trembling lower lip from becoming an all-out wail. In our household, they cure just about everything from eczema to a bloody elbow. On top of that, we're stocked with Dora and Snoopy band-aids out the wazoo, but Ella often declines them in favor of having me hold her in my lap for a few minutes and giving her "mommy kisses."

So it seems, for now, that my kisses have healing powers. And I'll gladly kiss her scabby toes and knees and goose-eggs as long as she'll let me because I know a time is fast approaching when the cuts and scrapes will go much deeper and won't be easily numbed by anything I do or say.

In her little two year old noggin, I can make anything better (well, almost anything). How I wish I lived in that sweet naivety with her, too. Instead, I have to continually remind myself that being "mommy" isn't defined by my ability to make things "better" or less painful. Obviously, there are days when that's part of the job description and it satisfies something deep in my soul to be able to comfort them in a way no one else can. But, as cliche as it sounds, pain is inevitable and it's counterpart, fear, is seductive. Our culture has made it increasingly easy to grow up believing that there are ways to get around everything that's difficult and especially, to be exempt from the latter two.

To let Ella and Milo believe this for themselves as well would be the ultimate disservice. I can't keep the pain from happening. But I can be there to give "mommy kisses," in whatever form it takes over the years.