Better than Dog Kisses

Growing up Chez Bruno everyone in the family used the same stupid voice to speak to the dog. We called it, unsurprisingly, “dog talk.” And a common expression in dog talk was to request “kisses on the lips” from the dog.

I’m not proud of this, mind you, but one’s childhood is what is was.

Mark is away on a work trip so it’s Kate and I flying solo for most of the week. Yesterday was crazy hot here–and despite the fan and open window in her room, Kate woke up a couple times early in the evening covered in sweat and calling out for a drink of water in the funny way she does, “Wau-duh? Wau-duh, Mama?”

She’s a pretty damn solid 7-ish to 7-ish sleeper (knock wood), but there have been some intermittent nights over the past couple months where’s she’s had Mark or I (or both of us) up tending to her wau-duh or blanket arranging needs.

So last night when I was in her room twice before 10:30PM, I was fearful that my night of solo parenting had the potential to be a night of sheer hell. Just when I was looking forward to doing snow angels in the bed alone, not having to worry about all my tossing and turning and pregnant-belly pillow-propping keeping Mark awake.

Thankfully she settled in as did I. But at 6:15 when the garbage trucks descended on the ‘hood she was up again. (Can someone please invent the Bosch dishwasher of garbage trucks that emit barely a perceptible swooshing white noise? I can’t help but think I’m not the only early-morning sleeper who would appreciate this.)

Anyway, at 6:15AM, knowing the nanny wasn’t arriving until 8:00 so I couldn’t even get a jump start on my commute if I wanted to, I was just not willing to rise and shine. So I went into Special K’s room, which was still thankfully dark, and informed her of the unacceptable waking hour. And with some careful placement of her loveys and attentive reapplication of blankies I managed to convince her that we both should really sleep some more. (Realizing, in the karmic parenting cycle, that I will no doubt pay for this small miracle down the road.)

With the side of her crib up I couldn’t lean in to kiss her. These days even with it down the preg-o belly tends to get in the way. So bleary eyed I kissed my hand and put it on her forehead before turning to swan dive into my own bed.

That she didn’t go for. “No Mama! Kisses on the lips!” she cried. And that was too much for even my early morning exhaustion to resist. If I had to lower myself via crane to get to her I would have.

Oh Miss Kate, I will happily give you kisses on the lips whenever you want them, silly girl! Kissing you beats getting a wet one from an aging Dachshund named Schultz hands down.