May 2, 2012


When he didn't or wouldn't or couldn't nap I went up to his room and we curled up in his bed, big spoon and little spoon over a saucer. The weight of his frame leaned against my chest and sandwiched me against the outside wall. "This is the mama fox, and this is the baby fox. The mama fox loves the baby fox," he explained seriously, wrapping his fingers around their tails and pressing their long noses together.

I closed my eyes and once he thought I'd fallen asleep he deliberately traced his fingers over the shape of my knuckles, one by one, something I always used to do to Jon too, when our hands were first introduced to the other's company. Our hands are getting to know each other in the nicest ways these days. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped he wouldn't forget.

If I lean over and look too closely at what lies beneath the surface of the pond I worry I'll crash through the frost gathering on the surface of the water and never come out. I can add that to the list of things I want to say but never do.

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