Love

My sweet boy. Love in its sweetest and purest form.

Every night we lay in his bed and we have our little rituals. He loves to hold my face. He loves for me to kiss his cheek and then pretend I’m going to eat his face complete with all the munching and gnashing sounds. And then he tries to do the same to me.

Every night we have to all gather around him and throw our hands into a pile and wait for him to make the “tt” “tt” sound so we can all say “teeeeeaaaammmmm…..” and then we wait for him to try to say our last name and then we all say it together as our hands explode into the air above our heads. We have to do this twice, and then he will look to me, because this is the time when I always without fail every single time have to interject “last time.” And then we do it for a third and final time. Most nights he will try to convince us all to do it a fourth, fifth, sixth, or eleventy-first time and he always giggles knowing we’ve had to put a limit on three because otherwise we would be there all night doing “team Sengul” motivation chants.

We also help him work on saying everyone’s names in our “I love you” ritual. He’s gotten really good at learning his brother’s names. He knows their names, he’s only recently began trying to say their names.

If I sing and sign the alphabet to him, we have to put a limit on three times. He especially loves it when I sing it faster each time. Another really good reason why three is the magical number because by the third time my fingers can’t keep up with increasing pace of signing the alphabet anymore, especially in that part where “L M N O P” become one syllable.

But every night is the same. He holds my face. In these not so quiet moments, all is right with our little world. He could have had the nastiest, most horriblest day in the history of nasty horrible days, and this right here would fix it all. For both of us.

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My sweet boy. Love in its sweetest and purest form. Please don’t ever outgrow sharing these moments with me sweet boy.


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