Growing Up

My six year old has, in no uncertain terms, asserted that she now doesn’t like kisses. Maybe it’s been happening gradually over time but it feels like turning six did this to her. Kiss her, however lightly, and she wipes it off with the back of her hand or worse still her sleeve. Like I’m some kind of aged lipstick covered relative.


I have tried explaining that I won’t rush at her with a slobbery mouth. I’ve tried getting Phoebe to chase her around the kitchen. But to no avail. She no longer wishes to be kissed.


Thinking about this makes me want to cry. And when I think of the phase she went through when everything had to be kissed better I feel so stupid. I know there were times when I sighed when she screamed at the slightest injury and offered her injured bit to be kissed. Why oh why did I moan?

Ridiculous isn’t it? Growing up is a good thing. Honestly it is.

Of course I still have my Phoebe who loves kissing me all the time full on the mouth. But she’s bound to change. Maybe I have only two more years of being able to kiss my children without complaint. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Thank goodness Tilly has confirmed that she still likes hugs. She quite often throws herself at me for a hug straight after dinner when I’m trying to drink a cup of tea and up until recently I haven’t always been welcoming. I sometimes favour personal space over minor burns.

But this is a message to all mums and dads with children younger than mine. I urge you. Put the tea down. And kiss it all better. While you are still allowed.

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