Crap. Seriously help me here, I'm about to commit a proper blogging crime. A cardinal sin, if you like. I am about to get irrationally gooey. I am about to vomit saccharine emotion all over your screen. You can stop reading. It's ok. You can navigate away right now, read no further, I won't mind. If one of you can stop and hold my forehead and rub my back for a second it might make it easier but you don't have to. Seriously, you go.
Right. Let's get this mess started. So, tonight, the spud decided to go to sleep in our bed and, since I was tired too, we both had a bath and got into our jammies and lay down in bed. I read him 3 Dr. Seuss books. He had some warm milk. We pulled up the duvet. He snaked a little arm under my head and pulled me to his cheek. I was feeling, I have to tell you, pretty relaxed at that point.
Then, the frog came home and picked up a guitar and immediately the spud wanted to "play your tar?" The frog put the guitar on the bed and we played, then he left to have his own bath and I made the two chords that I know while the spud strummed.
OK here it comes.
I showed my boy a little tune and we lazed about having fun with it and not talking and then out of the blue he turned to me, looked at me levelly for a second and said 'I love you... really big' and he smiled beatifically, as though he had just given me a holy benediction. Then he turned and went back to the guitar.
You see. Very very very sweet. Pretty much enough to hoist your pancreas into overdrive.
Thanks for letting me spew that one out.
I'll get me coat.