Eva Pilar is a busy little girl. She's a constant flow of energy. Moving. Creating. Destroying. Rarely stopping to rest. She wanders around her home, room to room. If I sit on the couch in silence I can hear her feet pitter-pattering about. The steps create a subconscious rhythm in my head. When the rhythm breaks into complete silence, my brain sends signals to my legs telling them to get moving- to find the source of the silence. There I can usually find a toddler deep in concentration- trying her best not to alert her mother to her misbehavior. She might be atop the dining room table, or coloring on the wall. She might have her hands on a remote control or cellular phone, thinking of a creative place to hide it. She might be pulling all the baby wipes out of their container, or money out of a wallet. Whatever she's doing, she knows she shouldn't be.
When she turns her head to spot me, her face erupts into a smile. She quickly hands over the forbidden object, as if the only reason she had it was to give turn it over to me in the first place.
I'm the party pooper.
But yesterday, her efforts to open a child-proofed drawer led her to pinching her tiny fingers. She cried out and ran to me, her watery eyes fixed on mine. As I scooped her up, she raised her little hands to my lips and said, "baa." She wanted me to kiss her all better. So I did. Then I set her down, and she ran off to new adventures, as if nothing even happened.
In that moment, I realized I have the mama kisses- the ones capable of of curing any pain or ailment. In that moment, I was so happy to be a mother. Eva's mother.