This morning as I was getting ready for the day, the kiddo awoke.
I heard him talking and talking away to his still tired, mostly sleeping daddy in our bed.
"Aaaaallllliiiii," my hubby groaned my name slowly.
My brain didn't really register his call the first time as I was lost in my own head thinking about the day ahead, pondering my career decisions, pondering what I would eat for lunch, and more.
"Aaaaallllliiii," he groaned a bit louder and more forcefully.
I peeked my head out my bathroom door and into our bedroom.
"Are you calling for me?" I ask even though I fully know the answer.
"Can you take him to go poop?"
With a smile on his face my son welcomes me to lead him to the bathroom by holding his hands up to mine.
This is full proof that he is feeling almost 100% better and is likely rid of the fever he had yesterday.
This reaching up and actually smiling at me, his unfavored parent, is proof.
I lead him to his bathroom so that he can sit on our toilet with the attached little potty seat.
I leave him alone to do the deed, yet come back every minute or so to check on him.
At one check in, I find him talking away, entertaining himself with who knows what.
"Mom! Look. I'm growing hair on my arms and legs. I'm getting so big now. See!? See?!" he exclaims enthusiastically as he looks to me for confirmation and validation that yes, he is growing into a full on big kid.
I can't help, but feel inspired by the way he takes pride in the way his body is maturing.
I take note to have an ounce of the same attitude about my ever increasing wrinkle lines and sagging breasts.