My dear, sweet son... I know these moments are fleeting and someday you won’t want to snuggle me. You won’t beg me to sit on the floor with you riiiiiiight here for (and I quote) “A reallllllly wong time!” I know these things, and it makes my eyes sting. It makes my heart heavy. It makes my arms ache to hold you tighter and closer.
So I sit here, and I think of those poems and songs and whatnots about how messes will wait but childhood won’t and as much as I cherish and appreciate the sentiment sometimes, I want to slap the ho-bag who wrote it because Mama needs to get some shit done. But I’m still sitting here.
Juuuust sitting here, watching some awful Paw Patrol.