I have noticed that Owen seems to get more “air time” on the blog lately than Kyle. I know why. They are both very fun and cute and verbal, but Owen is a ham, and he says and does funny stuff – a lot – and that is the kind of stuff that often just lends itself to get blogged about. When it comes to Kyle, a lot of what I find myself thinking about and feeling lately is stuff that I just can’t blog about — because it is stuff that is just too perfect for words.
I have deep deep soft spots for both of my boys, for sure. But my Ky Ky has a way of filling up my heart so much, so quickly, so often, that my heart often feels like it will implode. This boy has a way about him — a way without words.
Every night at dinner – sometimes multiple times per dinner – My Ky Ky nuzzles up to me at the dinner table, pulling my chin toward him so that my whole face touches his whole face, and our breath is mixing, and our eyelashes get caught in each other’s, and his nose is pressed into my cheek. His eyes are wide open the whole time — peering straight into mine, and he doesn’t shift his focus one bit. He’ll then kiss me over and over, lips to lips, again and again. I’ll say, “I love you so much my baby.” And he’ll say, “I know my Mommy.” And I’ll say, “Kyle, I love you so much I can hardly stand it. It is not possible that another mother loves her child more than I love you.” And he’ll just smile adoringly, and kiss me more, and gaze deep into my eyes.
My Ky Ky laughs a deep belly laugh and he does it often. He’ll say, “Mama, tickle me! One, two, three, TICKLE ME!” And I’ll tickle his belly along his ribs and he’ll wiggle and squirm and laugh with the most delight you could possibly, possibly, possibly imagine. His laugh could cure a soul. His laugh could cure many souls. I think it already has.
Kyle has a special way of making a person feel deeply loved — and he has a way of making a person love him like there’s no tomorrow. To know Kyle is to feel like you just want to explode with love for this boy. It is virtually impossible to articulate this kind of love. And that is why I so often don’t even try. It is a special thing — something to reserve for the unblogged about. Something to be coveted and savored by a mother. My Ky Ky.
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