Nels says to me, “We’re grown up now, not babies. You can’t hold us any more.”
“Oh really,” I say dryly. “So like how every morning you come downstairs and climb on my lap for snuggles?”
An instant cloud darkens his brow and his eyes focus on the floor. He frowns. He’s pissed.
“Well you can’t voluntarily or easily hold us.”
Phee clips Nels’ nails.
Breakfast. Vegetable quiche. I don’t like eggs in any form. But my kids ate more than half the pan, immediately:
Today I finished my housework early in the morning, avoided the computer (and Twitter!), canceled some of my mental commitments to other endeavors/people, and instead spent the day goofing off with, lunching with, and crafting with my children. I’m committing to a Halloween craft per day. Think we can do it?
Sometimes I feel touched out from all this bewbage Humnoy still does and this ever-vacant Hotel Uterus. I try my damnedest to remember that he won’t want to cuddle forever so I let him all up in my grill.
I hope he’s still not pissed for you calling him out! 😉
*ever-occupied Hotel Uterus
(preggo brain)
@THC
I don’t remember being very “touched out” when my kids were wee… but maybe I was? I know that’s really common. It’s true though, as they get older we are wistful for the cuddles of younger years! Watching my kids cuddle on my lap – my eldest is five foot tall! – probably nauseates some people!