I was rocking Ari in his glider this evening. I planted a kiss on his forehead.
“Do you have cream?” he asked.
“Yes, I have face cream on my face,” I replied.
“I don’t like it,” he said.
“Since when do you dislike face cream?” I asked.
He didn’t respond. He knows nothing about cream other than the fact that he walked into my bathroom this evening when I was putting cream on my face. He asked me what it was and I told him. I thought nothing of it at the time, but apparently, he didn’t like what he saw or didn’t like the way it felt when I kissed his skin.
I kissed Ari’s cheek. That’s when he dropped a bomb on me.
“Don’t kiss me with your cream.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes,” Ari replied. “Don’t kiss me.”
I tried to explain why I put cream on my face. I told him that in the future, he’d probably use cream on his face. I went so far as to tell him he’d probably marry someone who’d use face cream some day.
None of that mattered.
“Don’t kiss me!” he told me again. He didn’t say it meanly, but he said it forcefully.
I turned it into a joke. I changed my voice into a baby voice and said, “Don’t kiss me. I don’t like your cream.” Ari giggled. That’s when I knew it was safe to kiss him without making him mad. When I did, he laughed uproariously while trying to keep a straight face every time he said, “Don’t kiss me.”