At the end of the day when we’re all tired & wearing pajama pants, the boy is fresh out of a shower & I’m fresh out of energy. Doug dries him off as I lay out pajamas & they usually don’t match but that’s okay. I sit “criss-cross applesauce” on the floor & Harrison picks out a few books. He sits in my lap & he fits perfectly right now, his legs draping over mine & the top of his head reaching my chin.
I close my eyes & press my face against the back of his & smell the baby shampoo that we still use because it’s just so yummy-smelling.
I read him two books, sometimes three, & then he asks to read to me. Doug lays on the floor in front of us & I lean back on my hands & Harry “reads” to us, getting the story right but adding on a few extras. He turns the book around at every page to show Doug the pictures.
It’s my favorite part of the day.
Last night he only wanted to read to us & I listened while looking over his bookshelves, crammed with words & pictures. I need to start stocking up on the good stuff, I tell myself. Where the Red Fern Grows & To Kill A Mockingbird & Tom Sawyer.
When I was a little girl, I kept a flashlight in my bedside table for when The Momma kissed me goodnight. I’d read under my covers about horses & babysitters clubs & a pair of twins in Sweet Valley.
I think Harry’s going to be the same.
