Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Kiss ass

Yesterday, my toddler told me to kiss his butt. I really thought I had a good ten, maybe fifteen years before I heard those words. In this instance, it wasn't back-talk from a surly teenager, it was just a two year old asking me to kiss a boo boo, but it made for a very conflicting moment in parenting.

Picture it: we're merrily playing in the living room when he backs his tiny tush in to the coffee table.

Peanut: Owww! Mama, kiss it!

Me: I'm sorry, what?

Peanut, looking all sad and pointing at his traumatized heiny: My butt, Mama! Kiss MY BUTT!!

Me, trying very, very hard not to laugh in my poor, pained toddler's face: Whoa, dude. No. I am not going to kiss your butt.

Peanut, now extra sad because magical medicinal mommy kisses were being withheld, has real pain in his big brown eyes: KISS IT MAMA!! KISS. MY. BUTT.

At this point, I had to start negotiating because I knew one thing - I was not kissing my child's ass (not now and hopefully not ten years from now when he pretends not to know me in the mall). So, I tried to casually blow him a south bound kiss and that didn't take. Eventually we settled on me leaning down, kissing the palm of my hand and then patting his hind end. Instantly, the butt boo boo was healed. I wish I could say the same for my ego.

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