squeeze

Dylan,

"I want... I want, you... I want, yoo-oo" you said at the breakfast table this morning after Mom had already headed out to work.

"You want me?"

"I want another hug."

"OK." I picked you up from your foam-rubber, butt-grooved, replication phone book of a booster seat and held you close, on my lap.

"Squeeze" you said. I wrapped my arms over every square inch of you I could cover, and squeezed you tightly, trying not to restrict your breathing too much or for too long.

"More squeeze" you responded when I let up.

I hugged you and squeezed you for a while. Then I sang you the "ants go marching" song while you could feel the vibrations of the "hurrah, hurrahs" and finally put you back on your booster seat to finish your oatmeal.


Dad