He runs in, hair flopping and I can see him backlit from the sun’s rays that are only just peaking above the horizon.
I’ve counted his little steps before. Thump, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. Twenty little patters as he slides out of bed and runs towards me.
Every time I hear that first thump I smile. Even if I’ve been woken by him so many times overnight that I lost count.
His hair always flops. Silky and golden.
He stops next to me, smiles and hoists himself up next to me on the bed.
“Hey buddy! How you doing?”
“I good!” he says as he flings his arms around my neck. I hug him back of course and kiss the top of his head as I do a hundred times a day and pretend to nibble his totally delicious cheeks. Something that always makes him squeal with delight.
He snuggles in next to me. He slowly smiles and says, “ooh Mama, I like your dress!” He means my flannel pyjamas. Pink with the Eiffel Tower and camellias all over them. I like them too. He thinks of everything I wear as a dress. Because when you’re two you get mixed up by stuff like that. And at that moment I see myself as he does. And I feel beautiful.
“Now, Mama, please may I have my breakfast?”