Secretly, I want the storms to wake my kids, to have the thunder make them want to crawl into bed with me.

But they won’t.

They are great sleepers and storms don’t really freak them out. I guess that means I am doing something right?

But after a long hard day when I finally get home, the one thing that makes me feel better, like all of the crap I have suffered through this day was worth while, is a hug and a kiss from one of my babies. This is hard when I finally get home after they go to bed.

A child’s love is so forgiving. So genuine. So constant. So healing

What will I do when they are too big to hold? My therapy will be all grown up.

My son assured me last night that he will NOT get too big to cuddle. But he will. Some day, he will realize that I am not perfect and wonderful, that the fairies aren’t real, and that Santa is just a man in a red suit. I think he might already suspect this.

Then maybe I could borrow the grandkids?


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