I really, really, really love him

I'm grateful for so many things after reflecting on this past week, but one of the more trivial ones is I don't have to explain to Jake what happened. He's old enough to pick up on changes, like the locked gate at his school now, but young enough that he accepts my lame excuse that it helps keep the school warm. As much as I've extra-cherished Will this past week, I can't help but think Jake's just about the same size, maybe even has similar likes and characteristics of first graders. So I've been a mess and even though I haven't had to deal with tough explanations, he's noticed things, like if he's in arm's reach of me I gobble up his skinny, spastic little body in my arms and press my face into the one part of him with any remnant of baby fat left - his soft, full cheeks. And that he can have candy before dinner, because in the big scheme of things it's worth seeing him wiggle and squeal with excitement over a Hershey kiss even if he may end up taking one less bite of chicken. And that I've been reading four books at bedtime instead of one just to hear his little r-dropping voice recite reindeer names and lines from Curious George. And I haven't been snippy so much about him taking two decades to get into his car seat because I realized how amazing it is to watch his tiny little hands fiddle with the buckle while his tongue sticks out in pure concentration. I can't get out of my head how those poor families won't get to do any of these simple things I take for granted.

Jake told me that he knows I love him so much, every day, but that lately I "really, really, really love him."

Yes, I do. And not just lately, Jake. I always, always, always do.