I’ve come to conclusion during our 48 hour Hurricane Irene lock down that my husband and I are raising love bunnies. Mushy mushy love bunnies. During those long longs hours of waiting for Hurricane Irene to hit I was literally a jungle gym. My boys wouldn’t leave my side For. A. Minute. If I was lounging on the couch flipping from The Weather Channel to ABC, to CBS to NBC desperately trying to see when the 80mph winds would slam into my house they’d take a running leap from the kitchen and jump onto me; while we played Connect Four they’d hug me between turns; during my sumo-squats (in attempts to stay away from the fridge) they attacked me how I didn‘t bonk the littlest bugger with my five pound weight is beyond me.
The kisses I think outweighed the hugs. At one point my soon-to-be-four year old I believe was a St. Bernard because he was lapping me with so many kisses my entire cheek was drenched, soaked, disgustingly soaked. The never ending kisses assaulted me as I was going to the bathroom, they hunted me down when I was doing the laundry, they kissed me up when we were reading, when we were eating, when we were watching our 1,005th episode of Sponge Bob Square Pants.
I loved the affection, I really did but after a while I was definitely feeling a little claustrophobic. I began to wonder if I was starving my kids of attention? Were they showering me with this love because they don’t get it? I try to hug and kiss my children daily as I’m diligently working on the showing-my-kids-my-love-and-affection-regularly but this behavior was over the top!
As the day turned into night, and Hurricane Irene continued on her path I laid my children down to bed. As we watched our 1,0006th episode of Sponge Bob Square Pants I rubbed my littlest buggers belly. He loves it, he purrs like a kitten but than he flipped the switch on me. He started rubbing my chest, right above my boobs, it was a safe territory until he swiftly ran his hands over my boobies, right over my boobies. Like a Fonzie move, that slick. HELLO? Completely shocked I gently grabbed his hands and told him that he couldn’t do that EVER and he said very inquisitively “why”, which I replied “because they are my privates, they’re mommies boobies”, wherein he so quickly replied “NO, no they’re not, they’re daddy’s”.
I can attest that it is not a constant love fest in my house, my husband and I show our affection to each-other appropriately, in fact sometimes I don’t think we show the boys enough hand-holding, or kissing.
But clearly we do, because I’m not raising attention deprived children, I’m raising Hugh Hefner’s.