My Hearth and Heart

Because my heart is always at home

Reflecting

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I can barely see outside this morning. It’s cold, and foggy, and the kind of morning when you just want to curl up with a cup of coffee and a good book under the covers until the fog burns off. I could have done that for about 30 minutes, but couldn’t bring myself to crawl out of the warmth.

He comes in my room every single morning. He has since he was in a big boy bed and able to escape. He pokes his little head around the corner and yawns softly, checking to see if I’m awake. Then says, “Momma? Can I come wif you?” I say, “Of course you can, baby,” and open my arms as wide as they will go.

It won’t always be like this. Eventually he is going to be big enough to make his own cereal, reach the remote, and will just say “good morning” or nod his head when I finally make my grand entrance in the morning. Because let’s face it, all my entrances are grand.

This morning was no different. The soft yawn, the question, the answer. We snuggled and played Tickle Monster until he squealed and screeched so loud it scared the kitten half to death. He showed me his Power Ranger toy, and told me all about what it does. He asked me for oatmeal for breakfast, then asked me to trap him one more time before we ventured out to watch cartoons.

Six moths ago, it was such a struggle to understand what he was asking for. Now he asks for everything.

Can I come wif you?
Can I dance, Momma?
Can I clean up da breakfasft?
Can I eats?

He has come such a long way in the last year, six months even. He’s learning more and more every day, and putting together phrases that we are not sure where he learned them.

He’s becoming more adventurous, too. A few months ago, it was a struggle to get him to ride his bike. He would peddle a few feet then get “stuck.” Yesterday, he rode for a mile and a half without stopping (other than when we told him to). He played in the dirt at gma’s house with his trucks. He gets dirty, when he feels like it. Sasses me like a “normal” kid. And wants to tell me every little thing about everything.

It’s so different than this time last year.

And I couldn’t be more proud.

He’s in school four days a week this year. Next year he will be in Kindergarten. I cannot believe how fast this time has gone. Being his Mommom is what I was supposed to do, there is nothing in this world that makes me more proud, or as furiously happy, as that.

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Author: Meghann

Stay at home mommy, wife, daughter, sister and friend. This is my place to brag about my kids, my husband, my family, my friends... and to get a little opinionated.

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