Sugar kisses

The doctor held Ryan for me, as I got his carseat ready.

We were at my ob's for the wonderful six-week checkup, and I was chatting with my doctor a bit before leaving.

"He's a cuddle-butt,"  my doctor said, as Ryan snuggled into his shoulder.

Nearly eight years later, Ryan is still a cuddler.  He likes to crawl into my lap, he likes to be held, he likes to hug.   What else can one expect from the child nicknamed "Sugar"?

But my favorite thing, the thing that is just so adorable I know I will miss it when he doesn't do it anymore, is this:

Right before he leaves the room, or asks me something, or for whatever reason, he says, "But first, a kiss."  And he kisses me.  I can't be stingy about it and offer a cheek, or he will turn my face for me; it has to be a little smack on the lips.

He only does this with me. 

He has a habit of doing it when I'm cranky.  I'll be ready to tear the head off the next child who pushes, and here he comes.  "But first, ..." 

Recently, I found a Mother's Day sheet that he'd filled out in kindergarten.  One of the sentences he had to fill in was  "I like to make my Mom ______."  He filled in the blank with "smile."

He's found the perfect way to do it.