Holy Cuteness

My feelings for him take me so far inside myself I can see the pure holy in motherhood. 

I have to start by describing his cheeks.  It’s cathartic really, even to be sitting here with dedicated time to finally attempt at writing about this, or else my heart may burst.  They are soft but that’s not the best part.  It’s the texture.  The mush of them.  They are squishy and perfect to softly suction into my mouth.  He wants me to put my fingers under his chin, into the nook of his neck and then when I do he squirms and squeals and puts his neck down, clasping my fingers in there.  His smile spreading across his face.  His eyes glittering.  

Okay, but wait.  Can we go back to his smile for a second?  It’s wide, like a big lake you could canoe across, stretching so easily along his perfect face.  A face I would change nothing about, ever.  I wonder sometimes, if little kid model scouts will stop us on the street, asking if I’m interested for him.  Does this have me sounding like an obnoxiously arrogant and proud mother? Probably, but I can’t help it, it’s true, I wonder sometimes when we are approached by people who seem so personally vested in his cuteness, do they have a secret agenda?  Are they about to hand me their card? 

A woman at the Woodacre Market on Tuesday who was standing in line next to us couldn’t take it anymore and reached out and squeezed his arm.  Out of the blue.  No rapport built.  No conversation.  No “hello” to him or me.  But I watched her take him in before she did it.  And I watched the tipping point moment in her when my son’s cuteness became unbearable and she simply couldn’t help herself any longer and simply had to scrunch him.  

I know the feeling.  

Startled, he ducked behind my legs, away from her.  But he didn’t even say anything, then, or later.  He’s getting used to it, I think.  It’s perhaps even boring now to him: this making people’s hearts burst open every day. 

And now I’m out of time, but I haven’t even had the chance to tell you about his luscious thick curls.  Oh, and his lashes.  And his dark chocolate eyes, and his little lisp.  And how he says “pinch dark” like the dark is going to pinch him.  And “oak milk” as if from the Oak Tree. Oh, and how when I’m actually able to hold a firm boundary in the face of his deliciousness, he then melts into me and gives me a big hug and a kiss without any words.