A good morning

Sunday morning started this way.

 

Before daybreak, my half-conscious mind sensed my little boy approaching my bed, even before he whimpered, "Mommy."

 

As he stood near my head, I reached around to pick him up for an early morning snuggle. We both slept a little, though he started stirring as soon as the sun streamed through our window.

 

He started tossing, finding different sections of Mommy to use as his pillow while he stared at the decorations around my room.

Eventually, he settled on my hip and meditated on a favorite poster of mine: The Kiss by Gustav Klimt.

 

I've had the print for years, so long that I can't remember if I bought it in college or when I rented my first apartment. I have fond memories of seeing the original work - in all its breathtaking size and vibrancy in Vienna.  A few years later, I actually had the print framed and it hangs in my bedroom to this day.

 

"Mommy, I love that painting."

 

"Yes, I love it too, honey. It's name is 'The Kiss.' "

 

"Is that you Mommy?

 

"No it's not."

 

"OK, but I still love it."