I walk him to his room, where he will nap, but more like play
almost not so quietly in his room for a while during the middle of the day. He won’t sleep, but still says, “Good night, love you,” which sounds like “gah nite lav you.” and blows me a kiss. I could breath off those sweet puckers. And he’ll greet me when I turn the door knob with a “Good Morning,” at 3pm. I love every silly thing about him.
I respond the same way. He turns around to face me and says, “oh no, wait, hug?” He collides into my legs with his arms held high. I pick him up and he wraps his long, thin arms around me and pats my back, he’s done that since he was a tiny little babe. When he grows out of it, I’ll wither away, I suppose. He plants a kiss on my cheek and climbs down to play with his train track, but first he closes the door as I walk out.
I stand on the other side of the door, melting.
Little boys are mama’s heart melting machines.
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