Last night I was helping Little Man clean up his room when I noticed something big and white under his dresser.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Little Man shrugged.
“Take it out.”
He pulled it out and it was the pillow I have been missing for the last several weeks. I had no idea what happened to it, as it wasn’t under the bed or anywhere else a missing pillow might disappear to. I had interrogated Sam, as he is always giving me shit for my pillows (they’re old and cause allergy issues, but I did throw the worst one out after he teamed up with our doctor).
“Why was it under there?” I asked suspiciously, thinking my husband had stooped to hiding my pillows from me.
“I put it there,” Little Man said sheepishly. “I thought if you saw it on my bed, you’d take it back.”
You thought right.
“So what do you do, wait until after I tuck you in to get the pillow out and sleep with it?”
“Yeah,” Little Man said. “Sometimes, not always. I only get it out when I’m feeling really lonely or scared and wish I had you to cuddle with. And then I take it out and hold it like this (he squeezes the pillow). It makes me think of you and makes me feel better.”
As some of my bloggy friends would say, that gave me the feels. All of the feels. Every last one.
I hugged Little Man until he started squirming and told him that if he feels lonely or scared, just come to my room. (Which I thought he did anyway.)
Afterwards, I was relaying the exchange to my husband, and he started laughing. “Boy, he played you like a fiddle.”
“No, he didn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Did so. He just wanted your pillow and knew what to say to get to keep it.”
“Bullshit. He loves his mama.”
“Sure,” Sam said.