Motherhood is cruel

Every morning, my 4-year-old son climbs
into bed with me and snuggles into my body.
Yesterday, while gazing up at me
he said in a croaky morning voice,
“I like your face, Mom.”

This is quite possibly
the strangest and sweetest thing
anyone has ever said to me.

Once we are out of bed,
he asks me, “Do I have school today?”

“No,” I say. He claps his sticky hands together
and says, “Yay. It’s a ‘Mama Day.'”

I’m quite certain that no one
has ever applauded at the mere thought
of hanging out with me.

When I pick him up from preschool,
he sees me from across the room, and immediately,
his eyes widen, he shrieks a little
and runs to me. “Mama,” he says,
burying his face in my neck. “Mama.”

No one has ever been this happy
to see me. Not even my dog
when he really has to use it.