We fell asleep around three, right as I heard the opening theme of The People’s Court, with him on my chest, me sprawled on the couch, and both of us covered by a handmade quilt. When I felt him stirring an hour later, I stared at his perfect face and realized this was the last time in perhaps a long time that we’d have a day like this.

Yes, I know that he’s not really cognisant of dialogue or conversation or anything above his name, but I suddenly felt the need to plead with him, “Now, Mommy’s going to have to go to work next week. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. In fact, Mommy thought that she would be excited to go back, but really, she’s going to miss you so much that a part of her will be missing until you’re back with her. Mommy works because Mommy’s really good at what she does. And she enjoys driving her car. You like her car, too, right? Well, Mommy has to pay for that. Which means she has to work.”

He cooed, of course, which only meant that he was dreaming of his peacock toy, the only thing on earth that he deems worthy of his communication while he’s awake. Then he smiled a huge smile, which is a toss-up between the peacock and gas, and I whispered through tears, “This means that you can’t grow up between 7:30 and 4, okay? You save all of that for after hours. I want you to just sleep with Grandmommy and save all of the laughs and giggles and the tummy time for when I come to get you. Because you just can’t grow up without me, okay?”

He raised one eyebrow, which he’s been doing a lot lately, and then he snuggled in under my chin.

It’s a deal.