….Than a child’s kiss. I know. It’s not what you thought I was going to say. And that’s okay, because I never thought I would say it either. When I think of what things are typically described as “passionate” several things come to mind.
Looking into the eyes of your true love. Feeling a connection, a bond if you will, that brings two people together making them one. Not being able to fathom how you could live even one second without that person by your side. Almost as though you both are joined as one.
I typically attribute these thoughts and emotions to my partner, and he certainly evokes all this in me. But I never thought any more about the true definition of “passion” that I listed above. I just knew passion is a very close emotion to love, and something I associated with a man. I have no idea where that notion came from. Probably some where in my 8 year old self, scooted as close to my VCR and Disney tapes forever playing on my TV though out my childhood.
The last few days my son has been on an impossible quest for independence. I say it’s impossible because until he’s able to set an alarm, run his own bath, make his own breakfast, wash his own laundry, and everything else that (without much praise, or even notice) I do for him everyday, he will never be truly independent.
think he’s starting to realize this, and he resents me. He never calls me Mama, instead talks non stop about Dada and how wonderful he is. And he should! His Dada is wonderful. That man’s done more than any other member of the male species that I’ve ever met. He’s incredible! But what about me?
Then I realize how much that makes ME seem like the two year old, I put myself back in check. Of course he loves me. Right?
I was struggling with answering this question just today, and somehow, when I got my emotions in check (which is always easier said than done) I started watching my son play. He had on one of my shirts he got from the laundry, and was in the mirror talking on his remote “phone” to (surprise!) his Dada. For the first time, I really watched him as he walked around the room, hands on his hips, looking exactly like…well, me.
He then climbed on the bed next to me and, for the first time in many weeks, told me he loved me. Naturally, I cried, and then he leaned in, grabbed me by both ears, pulled me to him and “mooshed” a fat wet kiss on my mouth. He was looking right into my eyes and pulled back and said “My Mama”, and I balled. I balled like a baby. It was the sweetest, most passionate kiss I’ve ever gotten.
*Don’t tell Dada*