We snuggle up together and look at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.
“Mommy, I can reach the stars?”
I turned my head on the pillow to stare at my pint-sized motivational speaker.
“Of course you can reach them.” Ever realistic, I add, “Well, if daddy picks you up.”
We climb off the bed. The promise of a snack is more appealing than cuddling with an uninspiring momma.
He clasps his hands together as we near the stairs.
“Mommy, I haz a star.” He smiles.
“Oooooh, can I see it?” I squat next to him and reach toward his little chubby fingers.
“No. You can’t. I can sees it. It has ice cream in it. Red ice cream. With strawberries.”