Ben is not thrilled I'm sharing, but I can't help it. It's funny.
I can’t resist Colton’s
hair- the way, at the end of the day, his little bangs kind of hang over his
forehead, or fivehead if you are Gabriela Catalina talking about it, but in this stiff, still
gelled way. I like to blow his hair and
watch it flitter up as he closes his eyes and giggles in delight.
At dinner tonight, I lean over and let out a puff of
air. As the blond wisps rise, he
giggles and says, “Mommy, blow me again.” The adolescent perv still inside me abruptly
halts because on one level, this conversation is highly inappropriate and I’m
really uncomfortable, but on another level, this is my two year old son who is
asking me to blow his hair up in the air. Clearly I paused too long and got
chastised. “Mommy! Blow me again I say!” So, the adult in me squashes the jokster
teenager we all still harbor in our souls, some deeper than others, clearly
mine not deep enough, and I lean forward and blow his hair up again. He giggles.
We repeat the puffs of air in the hair.
Gabriela looks at us, sitting in a triangle at the table and
says, “ooh! I know, I know! Mommy, you can blow me, I’ll blow Colton. And Daddy.
Well, Daddy, you can just go blow yourself.”
I couldn’t help it. I
almost fell out of my chair laughing. I’m
a terrible parent.
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