In the morning, he comes running to my bed: SNUGGLE with me, mama.

When I pick him up from school in the evening, he holds my hand all the way home. “I love you, mama. I’m holding your hand all the way to our house because I love you so much.”

And when I tuck him in at night, he is a baby bird, I am the mama bird, and his papa is the daddy bird. I lay, nose to nose with him, his feet tucked up on my thighs, his arms wrapped tight around his beloved Zebra Zoo Zoo. I put my arm around him and he smiles. “You’re putting your wing over me, mama bird.”

When I pack his lunch box, I sometimes cut his sandwich into a heart shape, or cut out paper hearts from construction paper to make confetti.


At play, bedtime, imagination, love, motherhood, Mothering, ritual

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