My Little Hero

A little boy comes to me tiptoeing in a whisper, half an hour earlier than he should have been up from nap.

“What are you doing up?” I ask from my writing corner.

“You need to put that away because I want to snuggle with you,” he said.

And so I lean forward and set my computer on the bed, because how do you resist a sweaty little boy head and big brown eyes? He settles in on my lap for about two seconds, and then he starts wiggling. “I have to put my gun away,” he says. With a heavy, dramatic sigh, he slides his hand down the pocket of his shorts and then settles back in. “I have to look for bad guys,” he tells me as he rests against my chest, looking up with big earnest eyes.

“Well,” I say, “there aren’t any bad guys here. Bad guys don’t hang around mommies who snuggle little boys.”

He gives me a look that says, Mom, you and I both know you’re full of it. But he burrows in anyway, and for a few minutes, I get to snuggle my little hero.

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