I heard my door crack open at an ungodly hour, dear Lord when are her window coverings going to arrive?
The moment the sun flirts with the promise of a new day my child shows up in my room with the promise of 3000 questions.
“Mom, Pinkie Pie and Pinkie Dinkie Doo have the same first name. Is that funny? One is a pony and one is a girl. A girl human. She has a brother. His name is Tyler Dinkie Doo. Pinkie Pie and Pinkie Dinkie Doo. Isn’t that so funny? Do you think that they spell it with a Y at the end?”
I was barely audible, “It’s I-E.”
“That’s silly. No, it’s a Y.”
“Ok,” I mumbled as I rolled into a lump under the covers.
I could feel her moving closer to my side of the bed, “Look at my socks. They’re Rainbow Dash. My panties are Pinkie Pie. I just looooooooove Pinkie Pie. That doesn’t mean I don’t love Rainbow Dash, but I really love Pinkie Pie. Isn’t it silly that Pinkie Pie and Pinkie Dinkie Doo have the same name?”
She crawled into bed with me, her arms wrapping around my neck, her breath on my face, “I’ll lay here for a little while, loving on you.”
I would have it no other way.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers, whether by biology or pure heart and wondrous blessings.