It's late. I am tired. Actually its very late.
I am finally laying down. I just get comfortable. My two year stumbles, sleepy-eyed into my room.
I inwardly sigh.
He comes to my side of the bed, the kind hearted one's side of the bed.
He rubs his big, brown, sleepy eyes and says, "Mama, I skeered (scared), its too dark in there, I weally skeered."
Mama is made of butter. I melt. The two year old knows this, I am sure.
I let him climb in my bed. I know, I know, I should NEVER allow that. Remember, I am made of butter.
I lay there, exhausted, a lot due to this one that's snuggling with me, and my brain is sending out warning signals, but my heart is ignoring them. I KNOW I shouldn't let him sleep with me, but that night my heart was happy that he still wants to snuggle with his mama.
We laid there and he drifted back off to sleep and I laid there looking at him, through blood-shot, burning eyes.
I thought to myself, you are so cute, sweet and cuddly--what happens in the daylight that makes you become strong-willed, defiant, loud and acrobatic-like????
Right at that moment, it's as if he reads my mind, with eyes closed, he says, "Mama, I weally love you."
All his sins of the day are forgotten and I fall asleep beside the huge toddler that has managed his way into my, suddenly small, queen-size bed.