I am yours, you are mine…

“Mama” he yelled out to me at midnight, “I have a wet bum!”

Bleary, I shuffled in and found him sitting on his bed looking sleepy and concerned. In the flurry of the evening’s bedtime routine, his overnight undies (a.k.a. a Pull Up) had been forgotten.

“Oh Pickle, that’s okay,” I whispered, “let’s get you in some dry cozies.”

I lifted him out of bed and onto the floor. He stood quietly while I replaced his squishy comforter with a crisp down one, tossed a thick fleece blanket over the wet sheet (thankfully, not too wet) and pulled some clean, dry pajama bottoms out of the bin. I sunk to sitting on the floor in front of him. We stripped off the wet pants in sleepy quiet, only the sound of the noise machine whirring, and he held my shoulders as I pulled up his overnight undies and cozies. I started to stand to return him, dry and sleepy, to his bed. But he stopped me, crawling quietly into my lap, curled into a little-boy ball of cotton and limbs.

“My mama,” he whispered, more to himself than to me and we sat there for a few breaths to smell the warmth of one another before I put him back in his bed.

“Your mama, “ I said, as I kissed his head and pulled up the cool covers.

Sleepy little boy.

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