In my years of dating, if I met a bad kisser, that was the end of it. It didn’t matter if we hit it off great before the whole kissing thing. If he couldn’t kiss well, it just didn’t work out. It’s not because I’m petty, but because that’s just how things worked out. It’s hard to like someone who leaves a trace of spit all around your lips.
Or so I thought.
Now that I’ve become a mother, the love of my life is the sloppiest kisser I know and I can’t get enough of it. I no longer mind the spit and drool that covers my face. I don’t mind the passing of germs into the pores of my skin. I don’t mind a little slobber dripping onto my shirt.
Instead, I soak it all in. Every last drop of spit. Not literally, but you know what I mean. I know that someday those kisses won’t be there. I know I only have a few short years to get this kind of love and I certainly won’t get it back. So, I embrace it. Every spit-filled second of it.
It’s funny how things change when motherhood hits, isn’t it?