He Thinks My Kisses are Magical

In the last several months, Bear has begun doing the most endearing yet heartbreaking thing ever.  When he's hurt or heartbroken, his pouty face could turn the coldest heart to a puddle of mush.  He turns his bottom lip down and feigns the back of his hand against his eyebrow (definitely need to snap a pic of this face).  But what's even sadder is that if one of his meany sisters has hurt him, he cries silently.  He huffs and puffs for minutes, trying to convince himself that he doesn't need to cry, but the look on his face nearly moves me to tears before he ever cries out in pain.

"Look," has become his catch phrase.  "Look," as he shows me the red mark on his forehead where he just ran into the wall.  "Look," as he displays the finger that was just pinched.  "Look," at the invisible ouchy that's causing so much pain.  And who knew that, "Look," could be so beautiful.

Because in it he says, "Look, momma, only you can fix this.  I need you.  I want you.  Please make me feel better."

And as much as it hurts me to see my child hurt, there is beauty in it.

You see, he BELIEVES my kisses are magical. 

So I kiss him.  And he does (feel better).  

I know that Lila wants to believe my kisses are magical, but she also knows that the pain still lingers after the kiss, and often her tears do, too.  That doesn't mean she doesn't ask for kisses, and I sure don't mind giving them.  But with Bear, my kisses are truly magical and instantly stop tears and pain, and I pray they always will be and always do.