Turning To Mush.

I am.

I am turning to mush.

I don’t know what happened.  I am telling you, I used to be anti-mush.

I am someone that when I was 15 and a boy asked if he could kiss me, I let a screen door slam in his face.

A boy brought me a rose to school and I said, “Am I supposed to carry this around all day?”

A boy told me he loved me for the first time and I said, “You better!”

I didn’t marry any of those boys, by the way.  Shock.  I don’t know how I kept getting dates.


Now, I am mush.

Because of this boy.

Doesn’t he just make you mushy?!

Yeah, me too.

I let him take his nap on me yesterday.  For 2.5 hours.  And the remote was out of reach.  And my other boys were sleeping so I couldn’t call for help.  I lost feeling in my legs and one of my arms.  I think one may need to be amputated.  But I totally don’t care.  Because…

I just stared at Tom.  And thought about how wonderful he was.  And how much I loved him.

All of these things are easy to think when he’s napping in my arms, all angelic-like.

But then even after his nap I just kept saying out loud, “I love Tom so much.”

And then I would say to Tom, “You know what I love about you?  Every little thing.”

And then I would scoop him up and give him silly kisses while he giggled.  And then I just kept holding him.  And then I kept looking at him with a weird mommy glaze over my eyes.  Just thinking, “This is the best.  This is the best time of my life.  I love him SOOOOOOOOOO much.”

Then he pooed all over himself and me so it briefly snapped me out of it.

But I then went right back to being all crazy gushy.

I don’t think there is a cure.

I think the next time someone gives me a rose at school that I may just say, “This is so sweet.  I love it!  Thank you!” and then I’ll cry from joy.

After that I promise to figure out what the heck I’m doing in school and why some weird boy is giving a married woman a flower.

But only after I skip down the hall with my rose in hand, bragging about how cute and wonderful my baby is.


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