I Could Eat You Up. Really.

Dear Lewis,

I love everything about you. I love your smell, your smile, the way you sleep. I love the way you giggle when we change your poopy diaper, the way you look back at us and grin when you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, even your pouty face. Near the top of my list though is kissing you.

I love to kiss your cheeks, your forehead, your belly, your chubby thighs, and even your back because it always makes you laugh.

Conservatively, I bet I kiss you one hundred times a day. My goal is one thousand. About every tenth kiss I’m overcome with the desire to bite you. I never understood the idiom “So cute I could just eat you up” until you were born.

With your mom there’s the longing in me to be one with her. It’s deeper than sex. It’s a desire to, at times, be absorbed into her; to truly be one.

With you I’m so out of my mind with love that sometimes, if I’m not careful, I want to actually consume you.

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