I’d just lost at our second straight hand of UNO this morning when my son patted my knee. “It’s okay, mom,” he said. “I still love you.”
I felt the edges of my lips begin to smile. I’d heard those words before.
Tonight, with a pile of blocks between us, we built a city. We stacked block upon block until they swayed in warning. And then we held our breath. When my car garage crumpled to the carpet, my son echoed his earlier words. “Don’t worry, mom,” he reassured. “I still love you.”
And I didn’t worry.
I smiled back my love for my boy. I reached across toppled blocks to hold him in my lap. My boy.
My boy who still loves his mommy.