a.m.

This morning, Ethan came into my room and crawled into bed with me, flopping down for a giant, good-morning bear hug.  It was heavenly.  He was warm and groggy and just barely young enough, I knew, to still want to snuggle with his dorky old mom.  He’s my last child and will turn six in a few months.  These moments are quickly disappearing, I thought, and all the better because of it.  I wanted to stay there all day, hugging him and kissing that massive, sweaty white head.  I lay in bed, swimming in these tender thoughts and wondering what I could say to show him the fullness of my heart.  I then felt something tickle me, and looked down to see that he was burrowing his nose directly under my arm.  I heard a muffled cry come up from under the covers, and couldn’t quite understand what he was saying.

“It mulls fulov marmpis ineere!”

“What was that, honey?”  I smiled.  This was all so sweet.

“I said, grosss!  It smells full of armpits in here!”

Ah.  They grow up so fast.

I’d give anything to slow it down.