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.