Ill-Gotten Goods

I have a boo-boo. It's probably going to require surgery or maybe amputation. At least that's how I'm playing it off now that I've discovered the benefits of wearing a band aid in the presence of my toddler and repeating the words: "Mommy has a boo-boo."

Normally, getting a kiss or a hug from my son is virtually impossible and I had formerly resorted to such bribery tactics as holding his beloved pacifier ransom. Evil, yes. Necessary, also yes. A mommy has to do what a mommy has to do. Her pay is meager and thanks are even fewer.

So, the other day when I held up my finger and showed him my band aid and told him I had a boo-boo and he immediately took it and kissed it repeatedly, without prompting, I actually felt my heart explode. Then he sweetened the pot by rubbing my terribly injured finger on his cheek and softly humming to it. Clearly, he saw that this was a serious injury.

I have to admit that while a paper cut is no cause for a six-day band aid-a-thon, I've been wearing one. And, I bought more. Bryon asks me if an ill-gotten bit of affection is somehow less special than that spontaneous one and I have to say that it's only slightly less so. I'd chase him down, pin him to the floor and make him kiss me if it'd been a few days since I'd gotten one...not in a gross, child protective services way of course, in a Mommy needs some love from her baby kind of way.

I know that all of these kisses and hugs, stolen, forced and even the ones that are given spontaneously are being saved up and stored for the day he's gone. I've got this safety deposit box for them in my heart and it doesn't know the difference between ill-gotten goods and regular goods; they are all the same. His soft kisses and little squeezes will all be sweet memories when he's eighteen and throwing up over balconies while I'm at home worrying that he's passing calculus and not wasting my money.