I have read the little blue book at so many bedtimes that I have every verse memorized.
He sits in my lap. He strokes a loose strand of my hair and stares bright-eyed at the pictures.
How I love him, love him, love him.
I close my eyes and recite the words of the book by memory. Eyes closed, head bowed, the words of his story are my prayer. A thanksgiving. Another day draws closed. Another page of his childhood about to turn and give way to memory.
His eyelids are heavy and eager to dream. He cuddles up to me, nurses, and drifts so softly to sleep. He knows the scent of my skin and like his stories, I have every detail of him memorized. My tiny dreamer.
I recite the details of him in my mind so that I will never forget . . .