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He’s asked me about twenty times since we left the library. “Mommy, will you pway twains with me?”
While he barely touches the elaborate train set we got him for his birthday last year, David is still all about this tiny Thomas set Libbie picked out (we’ve had to buy a duplicate, since they get lost often, but it was well worth it). I’ve been immersed in Thomas-land for over a year. I know all the train’s names and numbers and heaven forbid we call Edward Gordon on accident.
Do I want to play “twains”? I just took him to storytime, Libbie is at school, Joshua is asleep, and I know I have half an hour to actually do something. I’ve been out of commission for days, spending my one at-home day with a nasty stomach issue. And my head hurts today, and I just want to sit down with peppermint oil and a heating pad, but the house is calling, the sink is full, but still …
“Mommy, will you pway twains with me? Pwease??”
He won’t always be 2. In fact, he won’t be two for two more months. He has pumpkin muffin crumbs on his mouth and delighted in his two-finger paper puppet at storytime today (and happily colored it all black). He looks more like a little boy than a toddler every day, despite the fact that he still wears a lot of last fall’s clothes.
I unload and load the dishwasher so I can check one thing off the mile-long list. Then I lay on my stomach and play twains.
Because he wants to play with Mommy. And who knows how long that will last?