Before I was a mother, I used to think that “kissing it better” was a bit naff, a bit sissy-ish. All these little kids running around, banging their heads, and coming over for a kiss in the deluded belief that it will make everything better. Please.
But the other day, before I even realised what was happening, I heard myself say, “Come here and let Mummy kiss it better.” What?! Even as the words came out of my mouth, I found them distasteful. But she did come running straight over, held out the injured limb, received a healing kiss, smiled broadly, and went running off to play happily again. It was magic!
And what was more magic was how it warmed my heart, how I came over all contented because my daughter wanted comfort from me in her moment of hurt. I fixed it. I cured her ill. We are yin and yang, we move in a circle around one another, we are each other’s worlds. It pulled on all the strings that make a mother a mother.
Today we were coming down the stairs and she banged her wrist on the corner of the banister. “Owwwwww!” I was poised, ready to administer my magic, all-healing kiss. I leant forward, pursed my lips… She looked at her wrist and tilted her head, then brought it up to her own lips and kissed it. Job done, she jumped off the last stair and ran off happily, leaving me with my kiss still poised on my lips, wholly redundant.