So, last night I put my son to bed. We snuggled on the couch watching Cheetah vs Leopard on Animal Planet. Then we brushed our teeth and moved to his bed to snuggle and read a few stories.
Rather than have me read a book, he asked me to tell him a story. So I made up a story about a cheetah and leopard that were fighting about who got to eat his stomach and bellybutton (long story). Then our cat, Ebers, stepped in and saved my son (I did not add that the reason Ebers was so anxious to save him from the predators was that she's planning to eat his face some night when I forget to feed her . . . )
After that touching story, my son asked me to sing him a song. I started singing a sweet lullaby. He snuggled even furthing into my shoulder and I couldn't help but think that this exact moment is what makes parenting worthwhile.
I was almost done with the song when he sweetly interupted me: "Mommy?"
"What, Baby?"
"Mommy, remember that time you were wearing that dress and your boob fell out?"
The little creep was thinking about my boobs the whole time.
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