He brought me a dandelion yesterday.
“Thank you!” I gushed, stooping to smooch him.
This was too much. He squirmed from my grasp and hurried back out the front door. But minutes later, he returned. With a rock this time.
He presented it to me without fanfare and this time I knew better than to smooch. I nodded and smiled at him before placing it casually in my pocket.
After this, I got two more rocks, a pine cone, a leaf, and a tuft of grass. My pockets bulged with these tiny tokens, these heart-felt gestures of toddler affection.
My heart swelled too.
My big baby was out discovering the world yesterday. He was doing his own thing in the sandbox, in the field, and in the woods. He was busy. But not so busy that he forgot his wintertime companion — poor old Ma stuck back in the house (and, ahem, watching through the window, but he didn’t know about that). He was doing fun things and finding good stuff. And his first inclination was to share it with me.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” his fat little fingers told me as they dumped the goods into my cupped and waiting hands.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” his awkward, bashful smile told me as he accepted my nod of thanks.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” his tuft of platinum hair told me as I watched it disappear out the front door and bounce down the walkway.
I’ll take it.