“Give Aba kisses.” Baby girl leans in, mouth open, and licks Hubby’s cheek. “Aw, kisses.”
He lifts her away from him and pulls her close again, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her hair. “Neshikot, neshikot,” he says. Then, to me, “Do you think it’s possible to kiss her too much?”
“Kisses! Kisses! Smooch and SMACK! You’ll have your love and kisses back!” These are the last lines of one of our favorite books, Love and Kisses, by Sarah Wilson. It’s a chain of kisses that circles back around to a girl and her cat, who looks a lot like our Cat. I’ve had the book for years, since I was teaching, but until about 12 months ago, it was sitting in a box, among many others, just waiting. I get such joy out of being able to read it to my daughter now.
Another boxed-up item, until very recently, was a baby doll, along with a tiny wooden bed and doll-sized blanket. A few weeks ago, I pulled her out, showing baby girl how to dress her, rock her, and put her to bed. I kissed the doll’s head, then handed her to baby girl. She bent over the doll, putting her mouth to the plastic hair.
Cue. Heart. Melting.
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