Gummed and Loved

I didn’t see it coming.

The morning was soft with that half-light that makes you think the day might stay quiet. I was lying there, half-awake, when I felt it—a small hand on my face. Not the usual pat-pat of exploration, but something more intentional.

I opened one eye just in time to see my son’s face coming toward mine, wide-mouthed and determined. Before I could react, he latched onto my cheek like a baby piranha. No hesitation. Just gums, slobber, and sheer conviction.

I froze. Not because it hurt—he’s all gums—but because it was so ridiculous. His little hands gripped my face like he was wrestling a wild animal, brows furrowed in concentration. And the sound! A kind of triumphant grunt, like this is exactly what I was born to do.

I started laughing. Not a polite chuckle, but a full, belly-shaking laugh. He pulled back, drool glistening on his chin, looked at me like what’s so funny?—and then went back in for round two.

By the third bite, my cheek was red, and my laughter had turned to tears. He giggled along with me, clearly proud of himself.

Eventually, I scooped him up and sat us upright. He leaned into me, a tiny bundle of warmth and joy, and let out a satisfied sigh. For a moment, we just sat there in the quiet house, and I felt it: this fleeting, absurd, perfect moment that I’ll carry forever.

One day, he’ll stop biting my cheek. He’ll grow up, too big for my arms, too cool to think I’m the funniest person in the world. But this morning, he reminded me that love is messy, unfiltered, and often absurd. It’s slobber and belly laughs and holding on tightly just because you can.

When he’s older, I’ll tell him about this moment. Maybe he’ll laugh, or maybe he’ll roll his eyes. But I hope he’ll understand. I hope he’ll know what it means to love and be loved, even in the messiest, silliest moments.

I hope he’ll always know.