It’s roughly 3 am. Little A startles me awake with his sobs of, “Mommy! Daddy! I had a bad dream!”

Ignoring my own fatigue, I throw off my covers and whisper-yell “I’m here, baby. It’s okay.”

When I get to his room, he’s a hysterical mess. Virtually unconsolable, muttering something about how he’d dreamt that someone broke his neck…and then trailing off again into sobs. I get into his bed and spoon my sweet baby, holding him tight in my arms and covering him in a million kisses, desperate to comfort my young child and also myself, after coming face-to-face with a gruesome reminder of his mortality.

I tell him that must’ve been scary. He agrees. I reassure him that he’s safe in his bed, completely uninjured, and that mommy, daddy, and Eli are all here, and we love him so much. He pulls my arm more tightly around himself and thanks me. I give my poor baby more kisses and snuggles, rocking him slightly as I again reassure him that he’s safe and uninjured. “I’m so sorry you had that dream.” I say. “That must’ve been horrible. I can’t stand the thought of something like that happening to you.”

"Yeah." He croaks, in a shaking, tearful voice.

We snuggle a few minutes more, and after he finally seems to have calmed down a little I cautiously ask, “So in your dream, how did you break your neck?”

"No, my necklace." He calmly corrects me. "My Ninja Turtle necklace. The one with the…"

"I know what it looks like."

To my credit, my snuggles never wavered. They held true and strong for another minute or so, and then I declared that I was going back to bed. Only his sobbing had woken up his baby brother, so NOW I’m going back to bed. About an hour after he woke me up. Fucking Ninja Turtles.

Dear lunch that I started eating two hours ago,

At some point you will be in my belly. I promise. You’re already cold, and by the time I finish you, you will be bordering on unsafe. You won’t make me sick, because I don’t have time for that shit. And you will still be delicious, because I need you to be.

Love,
Me

Dear lunch that I started eating two hours ago,

At some point you will be in my belly. I promise. You’re already cold, and by the time I finish you, you will be bordering on unsafe. You won’t make me sick, because I don’t have time for that shit. And you will still be delicious, because I need you to be.

Love,
Me

Little A is yelling for me right now, because he just pooped and has deemed the poop TOO GROSS for him to want to wipe it. He doesn’t want his hands near it, so he’s decided that I need to take care of it for him.

"Mom! I’m waiting!"

"I’ll be there in a sec."

What he doesn’t realize is that I’m just going to stand in the doorway and talk him through doing it himself. Why the fuck would I want to wipe a shit that even the person who made it thinks is disgusting? Come on, little dude.