Don’t let anyone tell you that you’ll have to lose them one day. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you’ll have to lose them one day. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.
I struggle with this inner urge to spoil him rotten in lots of instances.
Everyone’s jonesing for that hit of the S’mores. It’s like a town full of Wimpys, promising, “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a Snickerdoodle today.”
As they poke, prod, and check the charts, the doctors always remind you that you have “nothing to worry about.”
It’s like getting abducted by a UFO. You went into this awful experience with an absurdly difficult and disgusting task. Next thing you know, it’s 45 minutes later and you’re sitting on the floor finished, with no recollection of how you got there or what you did.
This moment meant more to me than these words can even explain because it was a moment that, at one time, I didn’t think would ever be possible.
For the first time in all our grocery outings, he was focused and tuned in to his surroundings. Rather than coming along for the ride, my boy was a willing co-pilot.
He did his usual strut across the front lawn on both his legs – even the crooked one that appeared ready to snap in half.
I want to give lectures about what I was forced to call meals as a child and how we don’t get to choose what we want to eat. But, alas, I’m tired. So I plop the Eggos in the toaster and everyone enjoys their morning.
I knew what was coming. I think you do too. Her goodbye that day would be her final one.
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