Folded closely on the couch, an early morning softness weighs them down. Pajamas and blankets wrinkle Dora against Thomas the Train.
Her ear drifts towards her brother’s shoulder and he bends his head the same. Careful not to disturb their closeness, I dole out sippy cups and whisper how happy I am they are best friends.
My thoughts interrupt their trance and my son wiggles to his place in my lap.
Do you have a best friend, Mommy?
And I want to tell them all about best friends,
how you can’t go a day without hearing each others voice,
how they can turn your ugly cry into tears of laughter before you have a chance to blink,
how they will say you look just as good toned and tan as you do moments after giving birth, and mean it,
how they will sacrifice the only pair of sunglasses in the car, the last dollar in their wallet, the fluffy pillow and warm blanket and even a piece of their dreams, just to see you happy.
And I want to tell them there will come a day when you can’t remember what life was like before your best friend walked into your life or how you ever managed to put one foot in front of the other without the echo of their step at your side.
But I tousle the wisps of blonde tickling my chin, watch perfect lashes wave up at me, cherish the heart beating in the crook of my arm and answer him simply:
My best friend is your daddy.
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