Apparently, the older I get, more I resemble a cliched grandmother in a b-grade movie. Red nails, red lipstick, compulsive need to pinch things. It's true. I have this overwhelming need to squeeze things, and proclaim how old they're getting. Not only that, folks, but it's tied in with a desire for nibbling. Hand me your kid to free up your hands for something, and by the time you've turned back around, I am grabbing for the irresistible little fat rolls above your baby's elbows, or grazing on the dainty fuzz on their round baby head, or gumming their miniature little fingers.
Want me to watch your kitten while you're out of town for the week? Don't worry, by the time you get back, the velvet just above their little pink eraser nose will have been rubbed nearly off from love. It's weird, and I can't help it.
And do you know that thing that cats do when they're all tidied up into a cat loaf on your floor? You know, tail wrapped neatly around, feet tucked in front, no spare parts hanging out? I can't even handle that, I think it's so cute. I just want to take my little crab claws right over there and squish the fatty cat fur between them. Yummy! Look at how big you're getting! What grade are you in now?
*My husband tells me I do this with antiques, fabric, everything, as well. I'm apparently a tactile person. If by tactile he means, OCD and a little irrational. If I was told not to touch something, I'm pretty sure my head would burst from the pressure. Is there a 12 step program for this? Because I'm not joining. I'm fine. I don't have a problem...