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In my house, small children get their pants changed atop the dryer. I admit this is an unusual set up, but as the laundry room is only steps away from the main play area, it works.
Now I’m down to but one child who needs regular diaper changes. When both babies required them, the boy inevitably got shortchanged. By the time I was done changing his sister, other pressing concerns prevented me from dallying with him. At that point it was all about utility, with no time left over for play.
But now the girl pees in the bathroom; most times she even pees in the toilet. The boy and I sing little songs while I clean him up (”Row Row Row Your Boat” is popular) and when he’s redressed, I put him on his feet on the dryer so we can continue singing face to face.
In that position he stands not quite half a head over me. He’s a little leery of the height (smart boy), so I hold him by the hips as he clenches the collar of my shirt.
After the song ends, he demands kisses. He does not like normal kisses, a fact for which I am profoundly grateful, as he’s still not past the ultra-slobbery wet-shirt drooling phase.
What he wants are “ex-im-o” kisses, or “bu-fwy” kisses, both of which I am happy to provide. He’s got precious little awareness of his body’s movements in space (which accounts for the perpetual bruise on his forehead), so I help steer his face toward mine and align our noses. If I didn’t, someone (probably I) would end up with a black eye or worse.
He rubs his snotty nose against mine and then holds still. I feel damp breath on my face and hear a juicy giggle gurgle up from his throat. Or he bats off my glasses and thrusts his cheek to my eye. Bu-fwy kisses make him laugh hoarsly, pull away, then come back for more.
I time-travel at these moments. I picture him some fifteen or twenty or forty years in the future, standing half a head above a different woman. By then I’m sure his drool issue will be resolved. Maybe also he will use the correct pronunciation for his body parts and refrain from sampling the toilet water.
Some will think it very wrong (or at least uncomfortable) even to consider what part of a boy’s sexual development might be played by his mother, but I have to wonder. I want to think that the way he feels about me will be the foundation of what he feels for every other woman (or man, or any other lover) in his life.
I hope when he looks at those other women lovers, he’ll see looking back at him just as much unabashed adoration as he sees from me.
anirbas on April 16th, 2008 
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marianne
