My son had been treating the chair in the hotel lobby like a jungle gym for a good five minutes before his leg slipped between the leather seat and the twisted branches that made up the rest of it.
Terror washed over his toddler face as his thigh and hip followed. With a panic in his voice that suggested he was sure the chair was swallowing him whole, he strained, “I love you, mommy! Mommy, I LOVE YOU!” “I love you, too,” I assured, fighting laughter while freeing his spindly little body. “You’re not dying, I promise.” He’s 10 now and more often than not, my shout of, “Bye kiddo! I love you!” as he dashes out to meet the bus is returned with a simple, “Bye!” Occasionally we’ll exchange this same send-off several times, my “I love you” growing louder and more emphatic with each round. Eventually I annoy him into reciprocating, which he does with a wry smile before closing the door behind him, presumably relieved to have gotten that over with. I’m not saying this whole "loving our kids" thing is one sided. I'm just saying there may be evidence that we pay our dues up front. Let's hope they remember all the ways we've said "I love you" when the butt-wiping tables have turned. Such as...
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