So, I brushed my teeth this morning, which is awesome, because morning is the first best time for teeth brushing, and this brushing session was particularly exciting. Aside from the satisfaction of warding off cavities, I was high on knowing that my breath would be nice and minty for when I wished my boy a Happy Birthday today.
But, he wasn’t in his bedroom.
I was confused for a second, and then I remembered he’s been “breaking in” the baby’s room. You know, so she won’t be afraid to sleep there when she gets born.
I crooned softly in his ear, “Happy birthday, little boy.”
He woke with the same sleepy-slow smile that’s been charming me for the last seven years of mornings.
And said, “Mama. I was opening packages and packages of soaps. All kinds of soaps,” then rolled over and pressed his face back into his blankets.
I kinda like knowing his dreams are still squeaky clean. I’ll have to remember this when he’s a butt-scratching, grumpy, 17-year-old dreaming of who-knows-what*.
*It’d better still be soap.
