The other night, when Younger walked into my bedroom to wish me goodnight, he was particularly affectionate, hugging me again and again while murmuring, “You’re such a good mommy, and I love you, yes, I do, I love my good mommy, such a good mommy, you are…”
Leaning back, I frowned at him, completely confused by his wide grin. “What is wrong with you?”
“You’re a good mommy, yes, you are,” he continued to croon, patting my shoulders. “And I love you, yes, I do love you…”
And then our border collie, who had apparently been curled on the floor beside the bed, wriggled and squirmed determinedly between the two of us, sending Younger into fits of laughter over his successful attempt to provoke jealousy from the dog.
“Oh,” I realized, turning my face from the tongue-wielding Dusty. “You think you’re funny.”
“Night, Mom,” Younger responded, offering another grin and hug before walking from the room, leaving me to soothe the ruffled sensibilities of the dog with an enthusiastic and prolonged scratch behind her ears.
I would say that I don’t know where Younger gets it, but I distinctly remember his father plopping down on the sofa to snuggle and slobber over me until a young Younger would feel compelled to wriggle and squirm between us.
So I know where he gets it. And it’s apparently a lifelong affliction.
Well, it’s my lifelong affliction anyway.
You may save yourselves.
And your daughters.