When Courage Flees

I feel sick.

My one year old, Pixie was chowing down on a handful of goldfish this morning when she accidentally chomped on her tongue. She shrieked and ran over to me for consolation. I'm a fantastic mom so I gave her a big hug and told her she'd be fine. But was that enough? Of course not.

"Kiss, Mommy?" Pixie asked sweetly. She stuck out her tongue for me to kiss the affected spot and thrust her face at mine. There was a thick paste of chewed up goldfish covering her tongue along with a small bleeding cut and I quickly backed away, disgusted by the idea of getting any of the goo near my own mouth. Pixie didn't understand why the old standard "kiss it better" suddenly didn't apply and burst out into fresh betrayed tears. Again she stuck out her tongue and came dangerously close to licking my mouth but I dodged. She. Was. Livid. "KISS MOMMY! KISS MOMMY!" At this point, a tear soaked face and running nose had to be factored into the ick equation. Screaming, she gripped my ears tightly and tried placing her tongue on my mouth while I swerved and dodged desperately.

Suddenly I imagined all the trust I'd built over the past 2 years spiraling down the pooper. I'd been in worse situations than this - she had once thrown up in my mouth and I survived that with only a recurring nightmare. Not to mention the countless diapers that had exploded on me and my loved ones. I was tough. I could do this. Steeling myself, I squeezed my eyes closed puckered up. The last thing I saw was that shimmering orange and pink tongue 4 inches from my face and closing fast. My waiting lips were plastered with a warm mash and I flinched but held my ground. The crying stopped. I peeked through tight eyes and saw Pixie happily going for another round of goldfish. I repressed a gag, wiped my lips hard and made a silent note to myself that kids aren't worth it.