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Morning Glory

Our bed was already made when he slammed his door and yelled for me from the hallway,”Mommy, where are you?”  And when I’d responded with, “IN here,” he blasted our bedroom door open giving the boingy stopper a reason to exist. Then in his striped pjs and dragging his train blanket, he crawled up on our bed and patted for me to lay beside him. 

This I could do.

His little body faced mine and our cheeks lay close enough to touch. And then I couldn’t help it.  I kissed him.  And I kissed him again.  And he sat up and said, “watch this, mom.”  And he kissed my face, that spot between my lip and my nose, the place only a child can kiss.  And I told him how happy his kisses made me.  But he corrected me and said that it only made my face happy.  And I smiled even bigger.  I’d have to think about that one.

And then his little arm reached across my face and stroked my wet hair. “your hair is long, mommy.”  And before I could say, ‘”yes it is” or “oh, okay,” he asked, “Can I see your teeth?”  And I gave him my best cheshire.  Which impressed him so much, he said,”Your teeth are long, mommy.  Can I touch them?”  And he tapped my front teeth with the nail of  his pointer finger. 

Then lest he focus on my nose, decide it was long and ask to put a finger up it, I kissed him again.  And he told he his tummy needed food.  Which I agreed it probably did.  And then we scooted off the bed.

His little hand in mine.


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